Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St Francis
by geekmama
Summary: A rescue and a rumor of treasure send Jack and Harry off on high adventure.
1. Prologue

**Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St. Francis**

**_Prologue  
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It was mid afternoon on a pretty day in late May, and the _Black Pearl_, dusky Queen of the Caribbean, was sailing into the South Bay of St. Claire Island on a fair wind and a following sea, as per the old saw. The weather was as near perfect as could be had in this part of the world, which was saying a great deal: sparkling, sunlit days were the rule here, rather than the exception as they'd been in England. Much of the crew had originally hailed from those cold, damp regions, including Captain Jack Sparrow. That had been long ago, of course, and one might have expected that the Captain would by now be so accustomed to the excellence of the Caribbean clime as to take it for granted, but it was not so. He greatly appreciated every day of fine weather, for if it turned inclement there would be little rest for him in his well-appointed cabin at the stern of the ship. He'd been known to stay at the helm for days at a time, with short spells to recruit his strength, much to his crew's consternation. He was quite adamant about it, though: the _Pearl_ was vocation and avocation, his responsibility, and his love.

Not his only love, however, and just now, as he stood at the helm, guiding his ship into the bay, he was uncommonly grim of countenance in his concern for the other: Henrietta Sparrow, formerly Dowager Duchess of Wyndham, sister to Governor Weatherby Swann of Port Royal, Jamaica, and his wife of nearly five years.

"She's not on the beach," he said to Gibbs as he looked through his spyglass at the small crowd that was gathering to greet them.

"It's a bit of a walk, Jack," said Gibbs, trying to keep his voice light. "Probably watchin' from the window."

Jack raised the spyglass, but the trees around the big plantation house blocked his view of the French doors that opened onto the balcony from their bedroom. "Maybe," he acknowledged, refusing to dwell on grimmer scenarios. He turned the spyglass toward the beach again, and a smile touched his lips. "There's Tom, jumpin' about like a wee monkey.

"Chip off the old block, ain't he?" grinned Gibbs, encouraging this more cheerful line of thought.

"I suppose so. Been a good many years since I was that lively, though."

"So old cattish as ye are," agreed Gibbs, facetiously with a sidelong glance at his Captain. In Gibbs's opinion, Jack still retained a good share of liveliness in spite of his position of father and husband. Or maybe because of it, with a son like Tom Jackson Sparrow, and a wife like Harry.

Jack had told Gibbs more than once that he was ill-suited to the role of the sober and sensible patriarch, but damned if it had not been thrust upon him, perforce! Gibbs never noticed him struggling too hard against it though. Jack's First suspected, in fact, that the captain missed his little family like the very devil when the _Black Pearl_ was away from her berth on St. Claire Island. But that was a sailor's lot, wasn't it? And made the dear ones all the dearer for the time away. Jack knew this, and so did Harry, but often and often Gibbs had needed to surreptitiously brush a tear from his eye at the sight of the reunited lovers. Gibbs had always been a sentimental fool, of course. Still, it seemed to him that, in spite of the couple's original reluctance to wed, they'd grown uncommonly fond as the years passed.

Which made the present circumstance that much harder to bear, of course.

"Da'! _Da'!_" yelled Tom, breaking away from Rachel and bounding into the water with a splash to meet his father's boat as it nosed onto the sand. Grinning Jack jumped out and was just in time to grab the back of Tom's coat and haul him up when the four-year-old lost his footing and fell, floundering and splashing. The boy was untroubled by this, though, and threw his arms about his father's neck as Jack picked him up.

"I missed you, Da'!" he said, hugging tight.

Jack feigned choking and staggered a bit, and Tom laughed and loosened his grip.

"That's better!" Jack held his son a little away, and could not help but grin with delight. A chip off the old block, indeed, was Tom, with Jack's own dark coloring, slight build, and gay spirit. "You've been good, then? Behaved yourself an' all?"

"Oh, aye!" Tom assured his father, gravely. "Except for the cat. And the pies."

"The cat and the pies!" exclaimed Jack, frowning.

"And therein lies a tale, eh, young Tom?" said Gibbs coming up beside them, grinning.

"Aye, it does that!" Tom grinned back. Then he looked at his father again, and pasted a sober look on, though his brown eyes twinkled in an amazingly familiar way. "'Twas only Duchess, the parti-colored one. I tied goose quills to 'er tail, an' first she chased 'em 'round an' 'round, and then she got scared and ran up a tree!"

"It was real work, gettin' that cat down, too," said Rachel, grimly, but with her own twinkle. "Old Abel tried and 'bout broke his arm, falling. Had to send one of the younger ones up. He got scratched up, but he got her down."

Jack looked severely at his mischievous son. "I hope your mother took a switch to you for that?"

"Oh, no!" said Tom, blithely. "She wouldn't! And you would've helped me with the pies, Da': they were that good!"

"He's right, y'know," grinned Gibbs, and said fondly, "Cheeky little beggar!"

"Don't bloody encourage him, Gibbs," said Jack, nevertheless shifting the young miscreant to 'Uncle Josh' and turning to Rachel, and to Elizabeth and Will who were standing close at hand. "Is she all right then?"

"She will be," said Rachel, with a certainty that did not permit of doubt.

"She is," said Elizabeth, "But…" She stopped speaking, pressing her lips together.

"What?" demanded Jack, steeling himself.

Will spoke, as Elizabeth was unable. "She's lost the baby, Jack."

Jack nodded. "A girl?"

"Yes."

This was bad. But looking at them he knew there was worse. "And?"

"She…the doctor thinks there won't be another."

Jack stared, a bit numb inside, as when one was badly wounded and the body had yet to acknowledge it. "Oh. Well, no more worries, then, eh?" he said, his voice hollow. He tried to smile.

"Jack, she nearly died," said Elizabeth, in the same hollow voice.

He swallowed convulsively. Without another word, he walked away, crossing the beach and heading up the path to Island House.

She was sitting by the window, in her dressing gown, but stood, shakily as he entered, and smiled with every evidence of happiness. "Jack!"

His brows twitched together. He shut the door and came toward her, eyeing her narrowly. "What the devil are you doing out of bed?"

"I'm fine! Truly! I could not stay abed to greet you." She held out her hands as he approached.

He took them and looked down at her. "They told me."

Her gaze faltered. "Yes. I…I'm sorry."

He squeezed her hands and said harshly, "For what? For me being away, and you close to death?"

She squeezed back, hard, and looked up again, a little mulishly. "I did _not_! And you are a ship's captain! I'll not have you blame yourself for…for my shortcomings!"

"Shortcomings! Harry…"

"Yes! It…it's no one's fault but mine, is it? I should have rested more, as Rachel said…and taken that dreadful tonic the doctor left…and eaten more fruit…and…" but here her voice became suspended by tears.

"You bloody little fool! It wasn't your fault!" He shook her a little in his shock and frustration at this line of thought.

She swallowed hard, trying to control herself. She said, vehemently, "It was! It was, and don't tell me different! I'm not a child, and you know nothing about it! You weren't even there! And I…" She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh, God, I didn't want to do this to you." Her eyes, when they opened again, were full of tears. "Oh, Jack. I'm sorry." And her face crumpled, her heart breaking.

"Oh, Jesus," he whispered, carefully picking her up and carrying her to the bed.

He came down for dinner much later, face set, his eyes telling the truth in spite of it. Elizabeth came to him, and took him in her arms. He closed his eyes and let himself be hugged until it was becoming too much to bear, and he set her gently away.

"Is she all right?" Elizabeth asked.

"She's asleep now," he said.

"She…she didn't cry, you know."

"Did she not? Made up for it today, then, eh?"

Elizabeth's lip quivered.

Will came and put his arm around his wife, and she turned against him, snuffling. Will said to Jack, "She'll be all right. The doctor said so. She just needs rest now."

Jack nodded, and looked down at the wee monkey who'd just latched onto his leg.

"Hullo, Da'!"

"Hullo, Tom." He ruffled his son's hair.

"Up, Da'!"

Tom's Da' obliged. "Lord, you're gettin' too big," Jack groaned. "I'm like to break!" He bounced the little imp a bit, and kissed his soft cheek, hard. Tom squirmed and giggled.

"Scratches!"

Jack smiled and quite deliberately rubbed his bearded face against the boy's, making him squeal. Then Jack kissed him again, and pinched his backside, and said, "That's for the cat and the pies, old son. And you'd best learn to keep out of mischief, for I'm stayin' awhile, savvy?"

Tom squealed again, in sheer delight.


	2. Rescue

**Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St. Francis**

**_Chapter 1: Rescue  
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"Da', look! Dolphins!"

"Bloody hell, would you _please_ get off that railing! You fall overboard and you're sharkbait, savvy?"

"But Da', there's no sharks—just dolphins! Just think if we could swim with 'em!"

"Come here, young Tom." Owens grinned at the Captain's offspring and scooped him off the rail without so much as a by-your-leave. Ignoring the six-year-old's squawk of indignation, he tossed him over his shoulder and turned to Jack. "Shall I take this rascally fish to Anatole, Captain? He'd make a fine supper."

"No, Anatole wouldn't have 'im. Sharkbait. Take him below and have him practice his knots."

"Don't want to tie knots! I _know_ 'em, Da'!"

"Well, practice anyway. It's that, or a Nap!"

In the face of this dire threat, Tom wailed, "Noooooo!" and capitulated. As he allowed himself to be hauled away, he saw his mother coming on deck and waved to her with great enthusiasm before he disappeared below with his mentor.

Harry came to Jack, at the helm, and he turned to her for a kiss. "Good morning, Madame Slugabed!"

"Good morning!" she smiled, and obliged him, though she added in a low voice, "For shame, calling names when you were the cause of my missing breakfast!"

"Didn't hear you objecting," he observed, with a teasing look, then launched into an imitation of her, rolling his eyes and gasping, high and breathless, "Oh, Jack! Oh, Jack!"

She stomped on his foot, hard, and looked around surreptitiously, trying not to laugh. "Be quiet!"

"Ow!" He hopped a bit.

"And you were just as noisy, if not more so. What the others must think of us I've no idea!"

"That we're bloody lucky in love, that's what," Jack said, "after which they're likely retiring to odd corners of the ship to relieve themselves of sundry irksome humours resulting from said eavesdropping."

"Really?" she laughed, rather aghast at this picture.

"Not a doubt of it. I would."

"Onanism is sinful, and most detrimental to the health," she quoted piously, her eyes laughing.

"Good thing I've you to save me from it some o' the time, then. For the rest, I've ol' Rosie Hancock."

"Jack!" Harry laughed uncertainly, coloring.

Jack kissed her again. "No more 'n you," he said, slyly, and grinned broadly when she reddened further and did not deny it.

She said, instead, lips quivering, "This is a highly improper conversation."

"Aye. Best sort to have with one's wife. If the weather wasn't takin' a turn I'd take you below an' continue it in a more private setting."

"The weather?" she asked, trying to change the subject and regain her countenance.

"Aye. Looks like we're in for a squall. See those clouds?"

"They look quite innocuous!"

"Well, they're not. I'm considering makin' for a little island off to the east: it's out of the way, but it has a good, sheltered anchorage. Better safe than sorry."

"Will it delay us much?" asked Harry, frowning. "Those babies need Christening!"

"They'll wait for us. We're the Godparents!"

"Yes!" Harry smiled. "Twin boys! Maggie is brilliant! And Charles must be ecstatic, after three sisters. And James!"

"Norrington's likely as proud as a peacock, sure enough. Didn't know he had it in him."

"He didn't. He had it in Maggie," said Harry, blandly. She smiled slowly and looked at him sidelong as he turned to her with a raised brow.

"Now what would your brother say to such talk?" mused Jack with laughter in his voice. He shook his head.

"Perhaps we should ask him when we arrive," she suggested, unsteadily.

"Oh, aye, an' have 'im accusin' me of corruptin' his innocent baby sister. No, I thank you."

She laughed. "I think I've managed to disabuse him of that notion in the last seven years!" She kissed him on the cheek and said, "I would stay to exchange more indecent banter with you but I'm starved! I'm going down to the galley. Do you want anything to eat?"

"Not from the galley!" The look in his eye and the tone of his voice left no doubt of his meaning, and he grinned as she blushed scarlet again and turned away, with a roll of eyes and an audible snort of laughter.

The afternoon was on the wane when Harry and her son made their way up topside from the Great Cabin where they'd been reading, to see what was toward. Jack was still at the wheel, and he was shouting orders above the noise of a stiffening wind. Harry was careful to hang on to whatever seemed stationary as the ship lurched and rolled, but Tom broke away and ran across the deck to his father.

"Da'! Can we stay with you?" Tom demanded.

"No, you can't. Bloody hell! Harry, get you an' Tom back to the cabin and stay there. We're trying for that anchorage, but we may not make it before _that_ hits!"

Harry looked in the direction of Jack's nod, and gasped. The innocuous clouds were now a roiling, fast-moving black, a curtain of rain beneath them, blocking the sun in that direction. It was still some distance away, but racing to catch the _Black Pearl. _Jack had ordered thesails partially reefed, and the ship was still moving along at a brisk pace, but it would be a near thing. Harry looked in the other direction and spotted their goal: a small island, still sunlit in the distance.

And then Harry gasped again. "Tom! No!" she yelled, for her little son was up on the rail once more.

"_Get down!_" roared Jack. Gibbs, close by, muttered an oath and stepped up to take the wheel.

Tom turned his head, pointing and calling brightly, "Da! Look!" The _Black Pearl_ gave a sudden, odd lurch, and that was it: the boy went flying, a startled look flashing on the little face before he disappeared over the side.

Harry shrieked in terror. Jack said nothing, just ripped off his hat and coat and was over the side into the rough seas in little more than the blink of an eye. Harry felt near to fainting, but she mastered herself and began praying as several voices shouted _Man overboard!_ Gibbs roared out orders to strike sails and bring the ship about. Harry staggered over to the side and looked out, gripping the rail tight. At first she didn't see them, but then the two popped to the surface, their white shirts visible among the foam and grey waters. But the ship was still moving away, though she'd begun to slow as the crew did their work with a dreadful sense of urgency. Jack was a strong swimmer, and had taught his little son well, but swimming in the calm bays and freshwater pools on St. Claire was a very different matter than in the swell and chop of rough, open sea.

The next fifteen minutes passed with an agonizing slowness. The _Pearl_ turned, stopping and pitching in the swells. Several intrepid souls, including a grim-faced Owens, lowered a boat and managed to get in and shove off without getting dashed against the side of the ship. Harry watched with a thudding heart as the rowers moved the boat quickly toward the swimmers, met them at last, and pulled them from the sea. They were alive. Harry sat on the deck and wept as she thanked God.

The journey back to the ship was not without its terrors, for the seas were growing progressively rougher, the storm very close behind now, and the _Black Pearl_ could not still even to receive her captain. However, with only minor bumps and bruises, Jack finally got up the ladder and gained the deck again, his naughty son clinging tightly.

The two collapsed together, Jack coughing and exhausted, his son, body and spirits quite intact, pushing away and asking in a bright, but concerned voice, "You all right, Da'?"

Jack looked at him, and his weariness faded into something else entirely.

Tom's eyes widened in alarm, and he tried to scramble away, but found himself caught with ungentle hands.

"All right!" Jack growled, getting up and dragging Tom with him. "I'll _all right_ you, you bloody imp!" And young Tom was picked up, taken to the quarterdeck steps, tossed over his father's knee and treated to the unprecedented experience of being thoroughly spanked before God and everybody, his soaked breeches affording little protection from his father's wrath.

Harry watched in a kind of stunned horror, her hands on her cheeks, but when the little boy was hauled to his feet again, and turned tear-filled eyes to her for sympathy, she stiffened and narrowed her own.

"M-mama!" Tom sobbed, as she came to them.

But Jack shook him, claiming his attention again. "Aye, you'll go with your mother now, but if we get through this storm alive we'll be having a long discussion on following orders, savvy? Now get below, the both of you!"

Tom turned to his mother again. "Mama! Da' hurt me!"

"And I would have done so if he had not!" said Harry tartly. "You naughty thing! You will come with me this instant!"

And Jack had to give a snort of satisfied laughter as Tom's doting mother towed him off by an ear.

The squall took its toll, though it wasn't as high as it might have been, considering its strength. The _Pearl_ caught the brunt of it and was tossed and blown like a child's toy for nearly an hour, after which the storm began to abate, the high seas and winds gradually easing. Grey rain still came down steadily, but the clouds lifted somewhat, affording the Jack a view of their destination, the little island, cloud-topped and now appreciably closer. For they still needed shelter: in the midst of the maelstrom and in spite of reefed sails, the _Black Pearl_ had lost the top third of her foremast.

"No one's injured, thank God, but we'll have to lay up at least a day for repairs," Jack told Harry, standing dripping in the passage outside their cabin. "I need to get back. Just wanted to see how you were."

"We're quite well, though it was very frightening, especially thinking of you and the others out in the middle of it!"

"It was a test, that's certain," Jack agreed. A solemn little face peeked out from behind Harry's skirts. Jack eyed his son. "And how are you, imp?"

The imp's lip quivered. "Are we going to discuss now?"

Jack fought against a smile. "No, not now. Come here."

Tom came out, hesitantly, and then in a rush as his father held out his hands. The little boy gave a sob as Jack caught him up and hugged him fiercely.

"What are we going to do with you, laddie?" Jack whispered, and closed his eyes as the little face burrowed against his neck.

And Harry came and put her arms around both of them, smiling through her tears.

It was only dusk when the _Black Pearl_ dropped anchor in the cove. The crew wearily made all secure for the evening while the incomparable Anatole and his wife, Louise, prepared a delicious and sustaining supper. Most of the men were so tired they could barely stay awake afterwards, though a few played cards, and O'Brien played his fiddle for a while, a sweet peaceful sound to the accompaniment of the steady, soaking rain. Some were just thinking of retiring early to their hammocks or cots when the captain and his lady wife and their progeny, the Young Imp, came down to say goodnight.

At the Captain's prompting, Tom Sparrow came forward a step, little tricorn in hand. "Da' says I must ap…apple…"

"Say you're sorry!" whispered Harry.

"S-sorry!" said Tom, in a small voice.

There were smiles and gruff words of acceptance, and Owens got up, and came to them.. "Good man, Tom. Shall I tuck you in and tell you a tale?"

"Aye! Can I go, Da'?"

"All right. Thanks Owens. Don't let him keep you up all night—we'll start the repairs at dawn."

"No worries, Captain." Owens picked Tom up, saying, "What'll it be tonight, lad: the lurikeen or the banshee?"

"Not the banshee, Owens, nor the lurikeen, neither. The fairy gold!"

"Fairy gold it is, then, young Hop-o'-Me-Thumb."

"Night, Mama! G'night, Da'," called Tom, smiling sunnily from over Owens's shoulder.

As the two disappeared out the door, Jack and Harry turned to the crew, and Jack bowed. "Gentlemen, it's been a bloody long day. We'll bid you good e'en."

There were scattered calls of goodnight, and Gibbs said, "Don't let her keep you up all night—we'll start the repairs at dawn!"

Harry grinned, and blew Gibbs a kiss.


	3. Another Rescue

**Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St. Francis**

**_Chapter 2: Another Rescue  
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The faint light of early morning seeped thin gold between the drapes over the windows of the Great Cabin. Harry sighed sleepily, thinking there was nothing quite as lovely as waking to the dawn glow of clement weather and the faint motions and sounds of the _Black Pearl_ in a safe anchorage, bedclothes and Jack warm about her. He was curled against her back, his arm about her middle, a possessive hand on her breast. She stirred, putting her hand over his, and squirming against him, a hint of a suggestion. Jack was gratifyingly quick on the uptake, however, and a hint was all that was needed. Pressing his face against her hair and neck, he breathed deep and his arm tightened around her bare middle, pulling her even closer. "G'morning, lady wife," he murmured, then brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, lingering deliciously. She purred contentment as his hands began to drift, gentle and very sure. More sleep could wait a while.

She started to turn over, to face him, but he moved over her for a long kiss, pressing her into the bed with his weight, rubbing against her, catlike, and insinuating a knee between her legs. Then he said against her lips, "'Twas your turn last night. Mine, now."

"All right," she said, soft and breathless, and unwontedly submissive.

He smiled, rather devilishly.

Long minutes passed in near silence, save for slow, moist sounds, approving murmurs, uneven breathing, and the occasional soft groan or whimper as he slowly worked his way down. She parted her legs to afford him access, but he paused to look up at her. She was flushed and trembling, watching him. "Relax," he said, and placed a kiss just under her navel.

"Yes," she whispered, but was only partially successful as he moved lower, disappearing beneath the bedclothes. Jack's outrageous imitation of her the previous morning was presently demonstrated to be uncannily accurate.

And then, the patter of little feet in the passage and the cabin door was heard to open. "Mama! Da'!"

Jack left off hastily, and Harry grabbed at the covers, pulling them up to their chins as he slipped up beside her again.

Tom trotted over, saying brightly, "It's morning, Da'! Can we go see the island?"

As his little son climbed onto the bed, Jack summoned Infinite Patience and said, "Tom, did we not speak about knocking before coming in?"

"Oh, aye! But Da' there's dolphins in the cove, an' the sun's coming up. Owens said I should ask you if we can go over!"

"I didn't mean _now_!" said Owens from the doorway. "Get over here, Imp!" Looking embarrassed, he nodded to Jack and Harry. "Good morrow, Captain, M'lady."

"Good morning, Owens!" Harry called, then smiled at her son's enthusiasm. "Have you had breakfast already?" She held out one arm.

Tom submitted to a hug, saying, "No, don't want any." But then he struggled up and reiterated, "I want to go over to the island! May we? Please?"

"No, you can't!" Jack said, a little testily. "Not now, at least. Maybe later, _if_ you mind!" A familiar look of mulish displeasure crossed his son's countenance, and Jack's eyes narrowed. "Or would you like a repetition of yesterday's little encounter?"

The mulish look faded to a reminiscent and unabashed wince. "No, sir," Tom admitted, beginning to recall a little of The Discussion.

"That's better. Now you go with Owens and get some breakfast and watch the dolphins and I'll be up in a bit. Some of us like to lay abed past the crack of dawn, savvy?"

"But _why_?" Tom complained, but then, noting his father's expression, made a precipitate retreat off the bed. "All right, I'm goin'!"

A small snort of laughter was heard from the distaff side, but Jack preserved his gravity, though his voice was just a little unsteady as he said, "See that you do. Owens, don't let him out o' your sight. Your reward in Heaven will be great!"

"And not just in Heaven!" Harry added, grinning.

Owens smiled, and, as Tom hopped past him, closed the cabin door.

Jack flopped back against the pillow, with a sound of exasperation.

Harry chuckled, and said, "He's your son!"

Her husband turned to her, first his head, then the rest of him. "He's _your_ son. Good God, what were we thinking?"

"I'm sure I can't recall," Harry murmured, taking him in her arms again. "My lamentable memory, you know."

"Perhaps I can…er…_jog it_ for you. " Jack suggested, eyelids drooping again. He kissed her. "Now where were we?"

There were dolphins at play in the wide cove, just as Tom had said, and a white sand beach with rocky outcroppings that promised tide pools and splendid places to climb, and palm trees and other greenery, the whole of it freshly rain washed and waiting to be explored.

"Oh, I want to go over, too!" said Harry. "Have you been here before?"

"Aye," said Jack, looking through his spyglass. "Had to take shelter here one other time. This is the narrow bit, an isthmus. There's a little spring on the other side, and fruit trees on the way. There _were_ wild pigs, on the north end, where the jungle's deeper—ugly customers, that lot, but they make good eatin'. You'll have to be careful about wandering about inland. I'll send Anatole with you: he can get some fruit for us. But watch that Tom doesn't stray."

"No, indeed! Is it safe to go into the foliage at all? Will the pigs attack?"

"Sometimes. Pigs'r pigs, the world 'round. You can walk along the shore to the south and see a good deal, and get 'round to the backside that way, if you like."

"Let's go, Da'!" said Tom, bouncing up and onto the railing again, next to his parents.

Jack plucked him off it and gave him a little shake. "_No!_ And your mother needs her breakfast now."

But Harry declared, "I shall have breakfast on the way over. Anatole can bring along some scones."

It was done, according to her will, and presently, after (what Harry considered) a precarious descent to the waiting boat, they shoved off across the cove, Owens manning the oars. The young man, now nineteen, raw-boned and darkly handsome, and a couple of inches taller than his captain, had been "rewarded" with a morning off to go with the touring party to see the island, and to lend them the protection of his wits and sword, should they have need.

Owens had progressed beyond Cabin Boy some years back, for, refusing Jack's offer to send him to school gently but adamantly, he had instead set himself to learning the skills of a seafarer and warrior with diligence. He could not be said to have learnt pirating, particularly, for he'd been raised by loving and God-fearing parents for the first dozen years of his life, and so had not the necessary moral relativity that seemed to come so naturally to some of his compatriots. That being said, he willingly carried out the orders of Privateer Captain Jack Sparrow, trusting in the man's intelligence, wisdom, and kindness, all of which he'd seen demonstrated countless times over the last seven years, and none of which would save Owens from being branded or hung for a pirate should he fall into enemy hands. But he'd made his bed, and would lie in it, and he wouldn't have it any other way, for Jack Sparrow was a man worth following.

Owens wore a smile as he rowed, watching Lady Harry and Tom exclaim over the beauty of the day, and the prospect of exploring The Unknown.

'Twas little wonder his Captain loved his lady, for she still retained the beauty and liveliness of youth, now tempered with a pretty gravity, gleaned from her triple role of seafarer's wife, mother, and patroness of St. Claire Island. Still, you never knew what to expect from Lady Harry, which occasionally made life rather interesting for those she loved.

And the same might be said of her offspring, which sometimes led to incidents like the one that had landed them all here today.

At first glance, there was no mistaking Tom for anyone but Jack Sparrow's son, pretty imp that he was. However, Jack had managed all his life to not only repeatedly land on his feet but to actually thrive on trouble, like some cat with unlimited lives, and Owens had little doubt Tom Sparrow would do the same. Then, too, the little boy might be troublesome, but he was lovable and loving, too. He and Owens had been the best of friends nearly from the day of his birth, six years before in the Great Cabin of the _Black Pearl_ as she lay at anchor at Georgetown, Barbados. Yes, the _Black Pearl_ and the sea were a part of Tom, just as they were a part of Jack, but the boy's looks, intelligence, and zest for life came from both sides of the family tree.

In spite of possible porcine perils, the little group had elected to cross through the trees and brush to the other side of the isthmus, rather than staying on the beach as Jack had suggested. This was due not only to Tom's immediately running into the vegetation to investigate, but to Anatole's assertion that they were more likely to find fruit and other edibles away from the beach.

"Including pigs?" suggested Harry, a little tartly.

"Oh, _oui_, Madame," said Anatole, "But the brush is not so heavy in this area, I think? And if we do meet with _le cochon_, Owens can very well kill him with his little sword, _hein_? The resulting feast will be _très magnifique, je vous assure_!" __

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on one's view of the prospect) they met no fauna other than birds as they made their way through the forest. Anatole gathered fruit into his basket as they went, and Tom, having previously eschewed breakfast, munched a juicy mango, and then a scone, and was, as a result, covered in sticky crumbs by the time they neared the other side and were in sight of the sea again.

"Come and let's clean you up," said Tom's mother, shaking her head in fond exasperation. Harry took his hand and they walked down the beach together, toward the freshwater stream that could be seen emptying into the bay spread out before them. The breeze, fresh and cool, was blowing sibilantly, and seabirds wheeled and cried. This side of the island was far rockier, and there were extensive tide pools, and waves breaking on the shore. Anatole enlisted Owens' aid in searching for potential seafood, since pigs seemed to be thin on the ground, and, as a result, Harry and Tom were the first persons to discover that the island was not quite as uninhabited, as Jack had thought.

Achieving the stream bank, Harry soaked her handkerchief in fresh water and began wiping Tom's face, which screwed up in displeasure as she worked. They were in the midst of this project when the breeze died away, briefly, and it was suddenly quiet enough to allow other sounds to come to their ears: the slap of waves, animal calls, and a thin singing. This latter was a wavering sound, not unmelodious but quite startling and eerie in this lonely spot. Harry felt her hair stand on end, and she and Tom looked at each other with wide, startled eyes.

"Mama!"

"Hush!" whispered Harry, catching him by the arm. She looked up, in the direction from which the sound came, upstream and on the opposite bank, closer to the forest, and apparently from behind an outcropping of rocks.

Harry and Tom stood slowly. The singing continued, and Harry looked back to where Anatole and Owens were digging for crustaceans, the little waves lapping at their boots. The men were not too far away: she thought her voice would carry that far, if the need arose. Even so…

"Tom," Harry said, low but sharp, "Run and get Owens! Quickly now!"

"But…"

"Go!" she snapped, and to her relief he obeyed, running back down the beach as fast as his little legs would carry him.

Harry straightened, and, pulling her long skirts to the side, quietly walked along the bank, upstream, toward the singing. As she cautiously drew abreast of the rocks on the opposite bank and passed them, the singer came into view and she stopped, staring at him.

He was rocking in time to his music, and wore the garb of a priest—a Papist, by the look of him, for there was a rosary tucked in the rope belt about the waist of his robe, which was of coarse brown cloth, and hooded. The robe was loose, but even so his gaunt face and the bony hands that lay serenely atop his knees, proclaimed him to be very thin. He had an olive complexion, rather like that of a Spaniard, but as she stood listening to his song she realized he was not Spanish but Italian. This was quite in keeping with her thought that she had seen this man, or someone very similar, before: his face was like many she had seen in Italy, to which fair country Jack had taken her after their little daughter had died, two years before. This man had the same high cheekbones, aquiline nose, full lips, and heavy-lidded eyes, though the latter were closed just at the moment.

She cleared her throat, and called, rather uncertainly, "Hello!" and the singer paused as he listened suddenly, but he did not open his eyes.

"Is someone there? _Una signora_?" he asked.

"Yes," said Harry, and went down the bank and crossed the little stream, soaking her shoes. "Are you alone?"

Still the eyes remained closed as he replied, "But no, signora. May I ask the same of you?"

"No, there are four of us." She came up the bank and stood a few feet from him, staring down. There was something wrong with his eyes, she could see now: there was…dried blood where the lids came together. "Father, what has happened to you?" she said, her voice trembling a little. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I here? Ah, signora! To say the truth, I had thought, until now, that I was here to die."

"_Da'! Da'!_" shrieked Tom, bursting from the trees and out onto the beach of the cove, closely followed by Owens, who stopped, bent, and put his hands to his knees, trying to catch his breath for a moment. Then, as he saw Tom start into the water, apparently meaning to swim out to the _Pearl_, he roared, "Tom Sparrow, _stop_!"

Tom did, and came rushing back to him. "But Owens! I want to tell…"

Owen's, still panting, pointed silently, and Tom, following the finger, saw a group of men several hundred yards up the beach, his father among their number. He lit out, shrieking again. "_Da'!_"

Jack looked up to see his son pelting toward him at high speed, followed more slowly by Michael Owens, and his dark brows twitched together in sudden alarm.

"Da'! There's a man and he's hurt and Mama needs you!"

"A man! What sort of man? Owens, where's her la'ship?"

"She an' Anatole are with 'im. He's a priest—Italian—an' he's hurt, bad, Captain. He…he can't walk—told us they broke his ankle. And he's blind, Captain. He's had his eyes put out."

Jack paled slightly. "Put out? Who by?"

"The Spanish, from what he says. They left 'im here to die. Had to swim ashore. He's bad hurt, and had nothin' to eat for nigh on a week. Had water though: we found 'im next the stream."

"God's Teeth!" Jack muttered, then snapped, "Owens! Go back to the _Pearl_ an' bring blankets and some food, and bring Gibbs and Bowers, too. Tom, laddie, can you show us the way back?"

"Aye, Da'!" Tom declared with great enthusiasm, thrilled to be appointed leader of the rescue expedition. "This way, men!"


	4. A Tale of Treasure

**Chapter 3:_ A Tale of Treasure_**

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To Harry's relief, it seemed that when the priest had said he was not alone on the island, he had meant that his ever-faithful companion in adversity had been God. Good tidings, indeed, but she and Anatole and the injured priest endured nearly an hour of waiting before further relief arrived, in the form of little Tom returning with Jack and two others. The rescuers finally emerged from the forest and walked quickly along the shore toward the trio by the stream.

Harry excused herself, and waded back across to meet the rescue party. Tom sped toward her, yelling, "Mama! I've brought Da' for you!"

Harry smiled, "So you have, you clever boy!"

"I'll go see them, shall I?" Tom said, rushing past.

"Be careful crossing the stream!" Harry turned to Jack, who had a crooked smile on his face as he looked at her. She said, "Don't tell me! I look the veriest hoyden!" and held out her hand.

"Took the words right out o' me mouth," said Jack, taking the hand and kissing it, then tucking it in his arm as they followed in Tom's wake. "Should've left the hat on, love: your nose is turnin' pink. Who's our new friend?"

"His name is Father Taddeo Angelini, and he is Italian, and a Franciscan priest. Oh, Jack, he has been through a dreadful ordeal! I wonder he is still alive!"

"So Owens said. I've sent him for Gibbs and Bowers, and things to make a stretcher so we can take him back to the ship."

They crossed the stream, and the priest turned his head toward them as they approached.

Harry said, "Father, this is my husband, Captain Jack Sparrow of the _Black Pearl_, and there are two other men, with him, Mr. O'Brien and Mr. Matelot, and Michael Owens will return presently with more help!"

The priest smiled serenely. "I thank the good God, who has sent you, Captain."

Jack took the hand that was held out to him. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Father. You've been here a week?"

"No, no! Five days only, I think, though the first two are a little unclear to me now."

"And your ankle's broken? May I look?"

"Tom!" said Harry, "Come away so your father can see." Tom stood up from where he'd been crouched by the priest and she took her son's hand and led him aside. 

Jack took some time assessing the priest's injuries, carefully examining the ankle, though he left the eyes alone for the moment, and questioning the man regarding his tormentors. To Jack's surprise, Father Taddeo was very forthcoming.

"It was a Spaniard, Don Rodrigo de Esparza, who is now Viceroy of Santiago. I was sent to retrieve a great treasure from him, which he took from us when he came to visit us in Assisi—for you must know that our order has the good fortune to make its home there."

"Took it from you? D'you mean he stole it?" Jack asked.

"It appears so, though we did not like to think it of him. But when I finally found him, and asked him to return it, he was very much opposed to the idea, as you can see."

'A master of understatement, ain't you, Padre?" said Jack, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "You just found him and asked him for it?" Such plain dealing was quite foreign to Jack's nature, and he shook his head in disbelief.

"Why yes, Captain. You may wonder at this, but we make every effort to believe good of our fellow men, until we are proven wrong. Unfortunately, the proof in this case nearly led to the failure of my quest. But now you and your charming lady have come, and all will be well."

"Will it?" said Jack. "And just what is this great treasure, then?"

"Why the chalice of our beloved patron, of course! The greatest heirloom of our order. Indeed, many miracles are attributed to it, the cup that the saint held in his own tender hands. It was left to us, his followers, and we have done great good with it these many years. It was not meant to be locked away in a jewel-crusted case, saved for the eyes of a few, as Esparza has done. God, in His wisdom has set this trial before us, and now he has sent you and your beautiful wife to help us."

Jack's brows had risen at the words 'chalice' and 'jewel-crusted case', but he said only, "Aye, well, that's as may be. It's early days to be talking of quests and adventures involving Spaniards who appear to be true children of the Inquisition. First we'll get you back to the ship and see if we can set this ankle, and do anything to ease your other hurts."

"I thank you, most sincerely, Captain. God is good."

"That He is," Jack agreed, amiably, getting up. He went over to where Harry was standing, alone as their son was now crouched at the edge of the stream, investigating the small fishes that darted about. Jack said to her, surreptitiously, "Mad as a Bedlamite, confronting a Spanish Don outright over such a thing!"

"Or innocent as a lamb?" Harry suggested.

"Maybe. Just as detrimental to one's health, either one. Here comes Owens and the others."

Tom looked up at these words and saw the remainder of the rescue party coming onto the beach. Dispensing with the formality of parental permission, he jumped to his feet, and splashed across the little stream to run and meet them, yelling, "Owens! Father Taddeo's on a quest for treasure and we're going to help him!"

"Oh, Lord," Jack said, shaking his head.

"Out of the mouths of babes?" smiled his wife.

"Humph," was the thoughtful reply.

"Ah, Madame!" said Amelie, chiding even as she attended her mistress, "You should be more careful to leave your hat on when you are exposed to the sun. It is so very damaging to the complexion. At court they would think you a peasant, with this golden cheek and pink nose."

Harry sighed, wrinkling said nose as Amelie daubed it with rose-scented cream. "I daresay it will peel, and Weatherby will be appalled. But indeed that hat is most uncomfortable—the straw _sticks_ me!"

"I will try to fix it as soon as you are dressed," Amelie assured Harry, smiling.

But a few minutes later, when Harry was clean and cool and dressed in a serviceable gown of pale blue, Anatole and Louise came knocking and entered with a light luncheon and tea.

"Alphonse continues to aid the so skillful Mr. Gibbs in his role as surgeon," Louise told her sister and her mistress, setting out the plates. "The poor priest was hurt even more than we knew: there are stripes on his back from a flogging he was given, before his eyes were damaged."

"Oh, no!" Harry exclaimed, her appetite, usually excellent when presented with evidence of the couple's skill, quite deserting her.

Jack had told her once, long ago, the tale of how he'd acquired the many stripes that adorned his own back, and though he'd seemed to make light of it she'd known him well enough by then to realize it had been quite the hardest thing he'd ever endured in a life fraught with injurious adventure. "I managed the flogging well enough—not a peep out o' me, gi' you me word, an' then I passed out after a while, thank God. But then later, havin' to lay still on that cot for all that time: days and days! I thought I'd go mad of boredom."

"Not to mention the pain," Harry had said tartly, quite horrified.

"Oh, aye. There is that. But at least you know you're alive, eh? Now don't look like that!" he'd added, severely, seeing how pale she'd become. "'Twas a long time ago, Harry. You were the one that wanted to know! Next time you ask I'll keep me mouth shut. Nosy chit pretendin' you ain't squeamish as…"

"Shut up!" she'd snapped, consumed with sudden anger and love, and she pushed him down and fastened her mouth to his to enforce her words. There had followed an intense interlude that made the terrible images he'd painted fade away, but later they'd returned, of course, and they had lingered in the back of her mind, as such things will, during their years together, only to be prodded to the fore at this present.

But Anatole said, "The swim to shore cleansed the cuts, and they look to be healing well. As for the ankle, Monsieur Gibbs thinks that will be well also: he and Alphonse have set it and bandaged it. It is the poor eyes they will examine now."

"H-how was the ankle broken?" Harry asked, hesitantly.

Anatole gave her a penetrating look and frowned. "But no, madame. There is no need to think about it. Eat now! A little of this chicken, _hein_? Or this fruit?"

Harry consented to having a slice of chicken placed on her plate, which she proceeded to toy with between sips of sweetened tea. And then Jack's footsteps were heard in the passage and she looked up hopefully.

He came in and grinned at the company. "Havin' a spot o' lunch, then?"

"Sit down, _Capitaine_!" Anatole said, happily. "Perhaps you can persuade Madame to eat a little, too."

Jack frowned at Harry, then said to Louise and Anatole, "Off 'er feed, is she? I suppose you've been goin' on about the Padre's hurts, and you shouldn't: she's a great deal of sensibility when it comes to violence, hence her long and happy marriage to yours truly." His lips twitched against a grin, seeing Harry bristle with annoyance.

"I am not squeamish!" she stated, then amended this by adding, "Unless it is someone I care for. To think of that poor, gentle man used in such a way!"

"_Don't_ think of it," recommended her husband, with an edge to his voice. "Starvin' yourself won't change anything. He's in good hands now, and we'll take him to Port Royal where there are even better doctors. You'll be pleased to know whoever did his eyes botched the job considerably: they were cut, but he can still see some light out of one. They're bandaged, and the ankle's set and he's laid down to sleep for a bit. We'll go visit him, later. Now have a bite to eat."

Harry sighed, and seeing the sense of the command, obeyed, though with rather less than her usual enthusiasm. The meal devolved into an episode of give and take between them, of bits and bites savory and sweet, interspersed with fond coaxing and scolding. Anatole and Louise smiled, and Amelie shook her head and the three finally excused themselves, shutting the door behind them and leaving the Captain and his wife alone to finish the one repast and to, perhaps, embark on another.

The priest had been given efficacious medication derived from the fruit of the poppy, and had slept all afternoon and into the evening on a cot in an area that had been draped off to serve as a makeshift infirmary. However, after the dinner hour, Jack took Harry down to see the man, and she saw with relief that Father Taddeo looked as serene as ever, sleepily holding court with several members of the crew sitting near to listen to tales of the man's experiences. The priest's injured eyes were now covered with bindings, but he perked up as they came in.

"It is the Captain and his beautiful wife, no?"

"Yes," Harry chuckled, adding chidingly as she came to crouch beside the cot, "though you cannot know that I am beautiful, sir, and therefore must accuse you of groundless flattery."

"But no, signora! I spoke of inner beauty—though I have heard a word or two of these things from certain of the crew, and of your husband, who is said to share these traits."

"Have you now?" Jack said, not particularly pleased. The men who'd been listening to the priest's tales rose abruptly and excused themselves.

Father Taddeo said, "I assure you, they spoke only with the greatest respect, Captain."

Jack sat down on the stool next to the cot, and Harry looked up at him, eyes twinkling as she replied to the priest, "We are quite sure of it, Father. They are good men, all."

"They're pirates, Father," Jack said, "Did you gather that from their words as well?"

"Oh, si, the excellent signores Gibbs and Alphonse spoke of this and many other things, while they tended my hurts earlier, in an effort to distract me from discomfort, which I must admit was considerable. But you are an English privateer, no?"

"Aye, that's true. For the moment."

"It's been true for nearly seven years, now," Harry pointed out, frowning, "But even before that my husband was the best of men though he was indeed a pirate captain."

Jack said, in a gentler tone, "I don't want him under any illusions as to our business, Harry."

But the priest said, "No, Captain, you may think me too trusting, but I assure you I do know the world, and more than a little. I had no reason to suspect that Esparza was the villain he is when I began my quest, for he had appeared to us as a pious man, who only wished us well. We were mistaken in that, but I do not think I am mistaken in you, though I have known you and your company but a day."

"As it happens you're not," agreed Jack, "but I doubt God would agree to me having much purity of soul to speak of."

Father Taddeo chuckled. "My son, that is for the good God to determine. We are all of us sinners. I myself was not always a priest, you know, and the way of St. Francis, which calls for obedience, poverty, and chastity, is not an always an easy one. But I do the best I can, and for the rest I rely on the mercy of God, which is all any of us can do, in truth."

This was so very much in opposition to the theologies expounded from the pulpit whenever Jack had found himself in the unavoidable position of having to attend a church of any denomination that he found himself exchanging a wondering look with Harry (who was nearly as ambivalent about religious practice as he was himself and looked back at him now with raised brows) and saying to the priest, "I daresay you're right, Padre, though I never thought to hear a priest say so. But tell me: what were you then, in your youth?"

"Ah, the son of a wealthy merchant, indeed! I had every worldly pleasure to hand, for many years, and a mother and a nurse who indulged me endlessly, to my soul's detriment. If you will both sit I will tell you a tale or two, of those days and of the change of heart that brought me to the priesthood and thence to this adventure of ours."

Jack started to get up, so that Harry could take the single stool available, but she shook her head, eyes crinkling mischieviously, and put a finger to her lips as she stood. He grinned and drew her close as she came and sat on his knee, placed a silent kiss on her cheek, and turned back to the priest. "We're all ears, Padre. Tell away!"

Father Taddeo smiled benignly.

It was some time later when Gibbs came in, accompanied by little Tom.

"There you are!" said Harry, "I was wondering if Owens had put you to bed without bringing you to us for a kiss goodnight!"

"I want to sit on Da' too!" said Tom, and proceeded to climb up on his father's vacant knee, oblivious to his mother's blush and his father's chuckle at being caught out.

Gibbs grinned and said, "Time for the good Father to get some rest now. I've brought another dose of that medicine I gave you earlier, Father."

"Ah, thank you, my son! Though I will perhaps try to do without tomorrow, if you don't mind."

"We'll see how you are in the mornin'."

Jack submitted to a fierce hug from his little son, kissed him, and then said, "Up, up!" and the trio rose to say goodnight.

Harry said, "Our thanks for the stories, Father. You are a man of many parts!"

"Yes, it is so," said the priest, a little sadness in his voice, "and prevents me from attaining the single-hearted joy of the true follower of St. Francis. Still, we live in hope."

"We do indeed," agreed Jack. "Take good care of him, Gibbs."

"Only the best for the sainted padre, Jack."

Jack and Harry took their little son off to put him to bed, but were relieved of this duty by Owens who ran across them as he emerged from the hold from whence conversation and music could still be heard.

"You go on, Captain," said Owens, picking up the little boy and bouncing him a bit. "It's been a long day for all of us. Got the foremast mended, though, eh?"

"That we did," agreed Jack, "though it was little thanks to me, having been waylaid by the imperious demands of a spoiled wench after lunch."

Harry kicked his ankle slightly, blushing. "You'd best speak circumspectly about said wench, or she is like to make further, more uncomfortable demands of you."

"Oooh, promise?" grinned Jack, and tucking her hand in his arm, towed her off, saying merrily, "G'night, Tom! Sleep tight laddie."

"G'night, Mama! G'night, Da'!" Tom called after them, then shrieked with laughter as Owens tickled him, and tossed him across his shoulder to tote him off to their cabin.


	5. Welcome to Port Royal

**Chapter Four: _Welcome to Port Royal_**

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Admiral James Norrington stood at ease on the battlements of Fort Charles, overlooking the sparkling harbor at Port Royal, Jamaica, and reflected on the changes that had taken place during the last eight years, changes which allowed him to view the approach of a notorious pirate ship with happy anticipation rather than the disapprobation of a naval officer whose career had been devoted to the protection of the people and lands of the Caribbean, an objective necessarily associated with the containment of the violent, unprincipled, blackhearted scoundrels who commonly manned such vessels.

Not that Jack Sparrow wasn't a pirate, and his _Black Pearl_ less than the epitome of a pirate ship. But violent? Well, the man was certainly capable of violence, but Norrington knew from both hearsay and first hand experience that Jack resorted to physical force only if other options had proven futile. Unprincipled didn't fit, either. Jack had principles. In some instances they even coincided with those of general society. Blackhearted, too, was a poor adjective for a man whose bark was nearly always worse than his bite (though Jack could surprise one, and had, on occasion, occasions that usually turned out to the advantage of all, and particularly to Jack, of course). But then there was the fourth epithet: scoundrel. Yes. That suited Jack Sparrow. And trickster, and rascal, too. Skilled deception, and a merry thumbing-of-the-nose to authority, were the man's _raisons d'etre_, the very essence of what _Pirate_ meant to him, and James knew Jack would have objected in the strongest terms to the exclusion of the title from his résumé.

Fortunately, he also tolerated that of Privateer for the British Crown.

Originally Jack had deigned to give this nod to respectability solely for the sake of the one woman who had managed to hold his historically fleeting interest for longer than a few weeks: Henrietta Fanshawe, _nee_ Swann, Dowager Duchess of Wyndham and sister to Weatherby Swann, Governor of Port Royal. A bird both rich and rare, and pretty and roguish as…well, as Jack himself. Norrington gave a slight snort of laughter, and shook his head. Foolish beyond permission, the two of them. Yet it was perhaps understandable that, after a week of hair-raising adventures involving timely escapes from _Worse Than Death, _the two had embarked on an _affaire _that was(from all reports) intensely passionate and uncommonly blissful. There was, however, nothing uncommon about the outcome: exactly what anyone but the two besotted participants might have expected. A slight fracas had ensued, resulting in Jack's application for a Letter of Marque, a hastily arranged wedding, and, seven months later, the timely debut of the couple's little son, Thomas Jackson Sparrow. Norrington, who had previously done his best to curtail the pirate's career at the end of a rope, had ultimately played an integral role in obtaining the Letter for Jack, had been invited to and attended the wedding (which had been charming, in spite of the haste of the arrangements), and had even been on hand to lend support to the new father on the night of the birth: the little mother had come through unscathed, but James feared Jack had been marked for life by the tense hours leading up to the happy event. In subsequent years, Jack had continued to coddle and worry over his wife, to her fond exasperation and to everyone else's amusement, and had shown himself to be, in many ways, an exemplary husband and father. He had also justified that Letter many times over. James doubted whether Jack felt any more loyalty to the crown now than he had ever done, but his skill as a ship's captain and leader of men could not be doubted and the crown had certainly benefited, as had many others, including Norrington himself. Yes, he and Jack had seen adventures of all sorts during the last eight years, some joyous, some so grim they were truly dreadful to recall, and the result was a mutual respect and friendship that had grown with each passing year, factors that Norrington liked to think contributed to Jack's apparent reconciliation to his career as an English privateer.

"Sir! They're coming! Can you see them?"

Norrington turned and smiled at his son, Midshipman Charles Holliday Norrington, trotting up the steps to stand beside him. At eighteen the boy was nearly his own height, the golden hair and smiling blue eyes were his mother's, and the open expression of happiness edged with mischief was all his own.

"Yes. Here." Norrington handed his son the spyglass.

Charles looked, eagerly, giving an exclamation of delight as he spotted the ship. "There's Owens, with Tom on his shoulder, and Jack's at the helm! Shall we go down to the docks? With this breeze, it won't be much longer."

"No, it won't. Go and tell the ladies: they are waiting in my office."

"Yes, sir! And I shall call up the carriage."

Charles disappeared, pounding down the steps two at a time. James, smiling, followed more slowly, leaning on his cane until his leg eased once more into the motion of walking. He barely needed the prop now, and thought perhaps he would discard it entirely when they reached the dock to greet the arrivals. Jack would be pleased that his torturous efforts to preserve James' life and limb had met with such success.

Pleased was too mild a word. He was positively gloating.

"James! Not even a limp! Harry! Would you feast your eyes: the Admiral is once again intact, thanks to my modest efforts."

Norrington rolled his eyes, though he smiled, too, as he walked, unaided, toward the couple. Negotiating the gangplank had been a little painful, but on the level deck he was quite able to present the appearance of one who was physically whole.

Jack came up and clapped him on the shoulder, and said, as Harry embraced him, "See? Told you it was worth all that pain and bother. And now twin boys to show for it, too, you old devil!"

"Yes, that's why Margaret insisted on naming the both of you Godparents, isn't it?" said Norrington, wryly, but with a warm glow in his eyes. He looked at Harry, who was beaming up at him. "How is it you and your disreputable husband look younger and more beautiful every time I see you?"

Harry laughed, but Jack said, "Ah, the wicked flourish like the green bay tree, do they not? It's in the Bible: must be true."

Norrington shook his head, sadly. "It certainly appears so, though I must say we could all do with more of such wickedness. It is very good to see you."

"The sentiment is quite mutual, Jamie," Jack grinned, "and more so now that the results of my handiwork are obvious to all. Maggie must be right pleased!"

"Yes, well, _twin boys_, you know," said James, and was quite unable to hide his pride and happiness.

"How is she, James?" Harry asked. "And the babies? Are they well?"

"They could hardly be better! The doctor says they are large, for twins, though they seem much smaller than our little Anne was at birth. But Margaret is very well—almost too well, for she tries to do too much. I can very much relate to your sentiments on that score, at present, Jack."

"Aye, I thought you might," agreed Jack, and glanced sidelong at Harry as he added, "Life'd be a great deal easier if they'd just stay atop their pedestals, where they belong." He grinned as she wrinkled her nose at him.

But she said to James, "Well, now I am here, and will make her keep me entertained, which will involve a great deal of rest, and the taking of cool drinks in the shade of your lovely garden."

"An excellent plan," agreed the Admiral. "But what have we here?" His eyes twinkled as a newcomer came to stand between Jack and Harry. "A Young Sparrow, as I live!"

Tom gave a self-collected little bow, and said, "How do you do, sir?"

James could not help chuckling. "Very well, I thank you. Jack, he is the image of you!"

Tom grinned in delight at this, but his father scowled and gave his scion a narrow look. "He is, an' he'll be the death o' me, too! Cheeky young varmint, lookin' the Admiral of the Fleet right in the eye."

"Oh, dear," James said, "Do I sense a tale in the offing?"

"Oh, nothin' out o' the ordinary," said Jack with assumed airiness. "Darin' rescue at sea, in the teeth of a squall that was like to send us to visit Davy Jones."

"Really?" Norrington frowned. "I saw the repair to your foremast. Was it due to the storm? And what's this about a rescue?"

"Da' fished me out when I fell off the rail!" said Tom, with every evidence of pleasure at the memory of being half-drowned in such excellent company.

"Good God!" exclaimed the Admiral.

"Yes," continued Tom, "and then the squall caught us and broke the mast, and we went to the island, and that's when we found Father Taddeo! He's _blind_! Only Da' thrashed me anyway." Tom scowled briefly, and had the grace to look at least a little ashamed.

James laughed. "It sounds as though you are fortunate to be alive to tell of it! But you startle me: I was under the impression that your father is the gentlest and most indulgent of parents." James lifted a brow at Jack, and smirked.

Jack growled, "I found it surprisingly easy to do, for all that, and considering the circumstances it's no wonder. And there'll be more where that came from, Young Imp, if you don't watch yourself. Where's Owens?"

"Making sheep's eyes at Susanna down on the dock," Tom said, with a slight grimace. "An' Julietta's there too, so I came back aboard. She wanted to _kiss_ me!"

Jack chuckled. "Naughty wench! But you'll need to become accustomed, Imp: the price of bein' a Sparrow, savvy?"

"Good heavens," said Norrington, then called, "Miss Maria! If you please?"

The nurse, who had been happily conversing with Mr. Gibbs by the railing, came over with alacrity, and curtsied (with some condescension) to Captain and Mrs. Sparrow.

"It is very good to see you again, Miss Maria!" said Harry, with a smile.

"Aye," said Jack, "Gibbs has been actin' like a right mooncalf for the last two weeks, but I see y' found him straight off and put him out of his misery."

The Nurse stiffened, reddening, but Norrington said, smoothly, "Yes, perhaps you and Mr. Gibbs could tell the young ladies and gentlemen to come aboard. We shan't be leaving for the house until Captain Sparrow is ready, and I gather there is an unexpected guest he would like me to meet: one Father Taddeo?"

"Sharp lad, Admiral," smiled Jack.

"Father Taddeo Angelini of Asissi," Harry confirmed. "Yes, you must come below, and meet him. Tom: go with Nurse Maria and be on your best behavior!"

"But _Julietta_!" whined Tom, in great fear of kisses.

But Mr. Gibbs said, "Never fear, Tom lad, I'll protect you from bein' ravished, Sparrow or no," and, taking Nurse Maria's arm, winked at his captain.

James had been looking out the window of the carriage, while Jack and Harry conversed quietly on the opposite seat, but now he turned to them. "I find it extraordinary that a Spanish Don would do such a thing to a man of God, and one of his own denomination at that!"

Harry nodded, but Jack shrugged. "Do you not know of the atrocities visited on supposed heretics in the Don's native country?"

James frowned. "I do, of course."

"But our people are no better at times!" Harry pointed out. "The ignorant and fanatical will always be apt to evil. Torturing and killing in the name of God: it is quite beyond my understanding."

"Perhaps they've a greater faith than you," Jack said sarcastically.

"If that is what great faith involves I want none of it!" declared Harry. "But I cannot believe that such actions are inspired by a love of God."

"No, you are very right," agreed James, "Though this particular incident may have been inspired by simple avarice."

"Yes. Or a desire for miracles. Father Taddeo seems to think the chalice is a relic of some power."

"Oh, all those orders and cathedrals have relics of some sort," said Jack dismissively. "A major source of income for 'em! 'View the jawbone of the saint and be healed: only a guinea!'"

Norrington observed to Harry, "This from a man who fought the undead."

"Indeed!" agreed Harry, smiling at Jack's grimace.

"Aye, well, there is that. I suppose a miraculous saint's cup is no stranger than cursed Aztec treasure. But the Don's motives are likely more to do with gold than God."

"But Father Taddeo's are not!" said Harry. "How are we to help him?"

"Who says _we're_ going to?" her husband replied, coolly.

Harry stared. "But Jack!"

"That he's alive is due to our efforts, isn't it? Risking our necks to retrieve that cup seems a bit much to ask. And _you're_ stayin' out of it, in any case."

Harry bridled, and opened her mouth to object, but James interrupted, saying, "As it happens, retrieving the cup may not be as difficult as you anticipate, and your wife's presence might actually enhance the safety of the process."

"_What?_" Jack said, sharply. "I ain't puttin' Harry in harm's way for any money, so don't bloody encourage her. God's teeth, James, would you take Maggie into the lion's den?"

Norrington's subdued his amusement at Jack's vehemence. "I would take her, were she not still recovering from her confinement. However, it is not a lion's den, per se, merely a diplomatic summit, which has been arranged to take advantage of the precarious peace we find ourselves enjoying at this present. By strange coincidence, it is to be held in Santiago, at the estate of the Viceroy, one Don Rodrigo de Esparza, in two weeks. Ambassadors from many islands will be attending, representing every nation with holdings in the Caribbean. And I, myself, am included in the delegation from Jamaica."

Harry clapped her hand together. "Oh, James! It is as though it was meant to be! Instead of taking the _Dauntless_, we can disguise the _Black Pearl_ and take you ourselves, and retrieve the cup during the summit!"

Jack could be seen to grind his teeth. "Oh, aye, they'll welcome a notorious privateer and his wife with open arms!"

But James said, calmly, "Your concern for your lovely wife seems to have impeded your imagination, Jack. You have only to assume a false identity for the occasion. I can see no difficulty: you both have sufficient skill to carry off such a deception."

This remark, appealing as it did to both Jack's vanity and his ready sense of adventure, assuaged his annoyance, though he still directed a pointed look at his wife. "All right, maybe it's worth considering, but I see no need to drag Harry into it."

"You are very right," James said, and smiled at Harry's sudden look of dismay. "However, many of the ambassadors will be bringing their wives, so it would not be considered at all out of the ordinary, and might, indeed, attract attention away from you and your efforts to retrieve the chalice."

"You see!" Harry exclaimed, vastly pleased. "Oh, Jack! Please let me come: I promise I'll do exactly as you say, and be very careful. Oh, what fun it will be!"

Jack looked daggers at James. "Now see what you've done? Bloody hell! I suppose this is to pay me back for forcing excruciating medical aid on your helpless self, just to save Maggie bein' a widow again."

James raised a brow, and was unable to subdue a slight smirk as he said, "Was that why you did it? I quite thought it had something to do with the fact that I nearly succeeded in hanging you, once upon a time."

Jack said, with a wolfish grin, "Oh, aye, that thought kept me hand steady, certainly." But then he shook his head, the smile fading in remembrance of the horrifying scene, and of the terrible days and nights that followed, when James' life hung in the balance.

James saw the look in his friend's eyes, and his own amusement faded. He said, gently, "I would not suggest taking Harry if I thought it unsafe, Jack. But it is your decision to make."

"Yes," said Harry, taking her husband's hand, "but please…at least consider it!"

Jack looked at her, outwardly submissive, but with a fire at the back of it that he recognized all too readily.

"Well, wife," he said, in a low growl of anticipation and amusement, "we shall have some few days of interesting encounters as you try and persuade me, will we not?"

Harry grinned, and, ignoring the admiral's interested presence, kissed Jack, then slid her cheek against his and whispered, "Oh, yes!"


	6. Christening

**Harry the Pirate: The Chalice of St. Francis**

**Chapter Five:_ Christening_**

The Norrington twins, Henry James and John William, emulated their progenitor by being perfect gentlemen at their christening at St. Peter's Church, Port Royal, Jamaica, both baby boys electing to nap throughout the proceedings. This was a considerable relief to their Godfather, who had already been rendered acutely uncomfortable by the new, excessively clean, and painfully expensive attire in which he'd been arrayed, having reluctantly submitted to Harry's rather quixotic decree that the wearing of stolen finery on such an occasion would be most inappropriate. Jack felt it would have been the outside of enough if the "whelps" had "set up a howl" on top of this. As they refrained, he was inclined to look on them with a fond eye, mentally storing away the picture they made (complaisant and dough-faced, and dressed in long, hideously frilly white gowns and caps) which would be excellent fodder for teasing the two in future years.

However, as he stood there at the font, half-listening to the parson drone on, so as not to miss his cue, he became aware that his own offspring was less resigned to enduring the ceremony without complaint, and that Tom was being prodded toward rebellion by none other than the twins' sister, five-year old Anne Norrington. She could be seen tugging on Tom's sleeve, and whispering sedition in his ear, and if the two had not been in Jack's line-of-sight and subject to his occasional warning glance it was doubtful they'd have lasted this long.

Tom fidgeted, and turned a pleading eye toward Jack. Annie, seeing it, added her own beseeching gaze of limpid blue. Jack returned them a look that combined sympathy with fatherly sternness. Tom took this philosophically, but little Anne's brow clouded with annoyance and she tugged on Tom's sleeve again. Jack was just contemplating favoring her with a frown and a raised brow when there was a sibilant rustle and Elizabeth moved to stand behind the two children. She laid a hand on each of their shoulders, and then looked up, smiling reassurance to Jack. Seeing Tom glance up at his cousin with a smile of his own, and Annie settle back against Elizabeth's long skirts, Jack gave his niece a grateful look, and was able to turn his whole attention to the ceremony once more.

o-o-o

The party afterward was held in the garden of Norrington's large and comfortable home, which had been given the rather treacly name of _The Bower _on the occasion of his marriage to the bosom-beau of Harry's youth, the beautiful Lady Margaret Holliday.

"Maggie and James make the loveliest couple, do they not?" remarked Harry, tucking her hand in Jack's arm.

He patted the hand, and said, "Oh, aye. She keeps him busy, too, which is all to the good."

"Yes." Harry said thoughtfully. "With the war with France at an end, I suppose his thoughts will turn again to Pirate Hunting, after the summit is concluded, and we have the Chalice safely returned to Father Taddeo. How grateful I am that you now have something besides the Letter of Marque to occupy your time."

"Trade, d'ye mean?" Jack grimaced slightly. "Giles is quite capable of handling the rum trade on his own, you know. He's just thrown us a bone, as it were."

"Nonsense!" said Harry sharply. "The business is ours! Why should you not have work and profit from it?"

"The business is _yours_, Harry. I'm willing to help, certainly, if I'm needed. But I ain't. Giles has done a fine job in managing it, and anyone can do the shipping for you. You don't need the _Black Pearl_ for that. Or me."

Harry looked exasperated, but she said nothing for a moment. When she did speak, it was with strained resignation. "You will take up adventuring and… and piracy again, then?"

Jack looked down at her. She might not be happy about it, but she'd accept whatever he told her, and build her life around it. She loved him too much, and it was both a blessing and a binding chain. "I don't know, love. The _Black Pearl's_ no merchantman."

"She _could_ be. Oh, not an ordinary one, perhaps, but…but there are hundreds of commodities here in the New World that are exotic to the Old, even at this late date! As large as our fortune is, it could be even greater if we took advantage of that fact."

Jack frowned. "I've thought of that. But it would mean far longer voyages. More time away from you."

"And that would be unacceptable to you?" she asked, her voice soft.

His eyes narrowed, and he replied just as soft, but with an underlying impatience, "You know it would."

She dimpled, coloring like a young girl, and said, "But how would it be if we came with you, Tom and I?"

Jack stared. "You'd leave St. Claire?"

She shrugged slightly. "I've done a fine job, too, and I've good people to leave in charge during my absence, as you know."

Jack chuckled. "I do. Surprised me that Anamaria'd be so happy settled on land. Judah and her boys, and her work on the island keep her too busy to get restless, I daresay."

"Yes, between Ana and Judah, and the Lightfoots, and Rachel, I need have no scruples. And a long Voyage of Trade and Exploration is just what I need now, I think. You gave me a taste of it, two years ago, when you took me to Italy: just enough to whet my appetite."

"Was it, indeed?" He reached and ran the backs of his fingers lightly against her cheek, and she tilted her head, her beautiful eyes closing, long, dark lashes fanning against pale gold and rose. Lord, to think of them together on a long voyage like that: the things he could show her! The Caribbean was home, but he had seen a great deal of the rest of the world both before and after the mutiny, and adventure enough for two lifetimes, it seemed to him now. Not all of it easy. Or safe. He frowned slightly. "Could be dangerous, you know."

She opened her eyes and frowned right back. "_Life_ is dangerous!"

He recognized that tilted chin, and subdued a smile. "What about Tom… he'd be underfoot. He's wilder than two years back. Look what happened just coming here!"

"He'll settle, once he knows it's not a rare few days with you. And he's bright, Jack. He's your son, to the core."

Jack did smile at that. "He is, isn't he? And yours. I suppose that qualifies him to become the youngest Cabin Boy in history."

"He'll love it," said Harry. "As will I."

"And I," said Jack. She smiled up at him, untroubled now, life suddenly full of possibility. There was no room for paralyzing worry if they did take this gamble: they must cast aside possible regret and turn their faces into the wind. He said to her, "If we weren't in the middle of a garden party, I'd kiss you…!"

"And I'd let you, and return the favor, tenfold!" She took his hand, and said, saucily, "Later!"

"Mmmm. Most definitely later." He drew her hand up, and kissed it, giving it a tiny swipe of his tongue as he did so, and then grinning at her tiny gasp of surprised laughter.

"Attempted seduction again, Sparrow?" said Norrington, coming up to them. The twinkle in his eye belied the bored disapproval in his voice.

Jack raised a brow. "And who are you to talk: it's you as has the new whelps. Harry and I are still practicin', as it were."

"I had thought she'd already persuaded you to let her go to the summit."

"Oh, aye. We've moved on to other matters now. We leave three days hence?"

"If the _Black_ _Pearl_ will be ready."

"She will."

"I find that I am very glad we shall only be gone a few weeks," remarked Norrington, gazing toward the veranda, where Margaret and the twins were holding court. "Those little lads of mine change so rapidly I'd scarce know them if it were longer. I was happy to see they were well-behaved this morning, for your sakes."

"Paragons of virtue, just like their Da'." Jack grinned.

"And just as handsome," declared his wife.

"Oh, now, Harry!" Jack objected. "James may not measure up to our standards, but he ain't dough-faced!"

"Dough-faced?" exclaimed Harry, outraged.

James shook his head, chuckling.

o-o-o

Two days later, Maggie had her second outing with the twins since their birth: the entire family had been invited to the Governor's estate for a going-away feast for the burglars and diplomats who would all set sail for Cuba on the disguised _Black Pearl_ the following morning, and for a birthday celebration for Weatherby Swann, who had attained the shady side of fifty. Anatole and Louise had taken over the kitchens and were to present Roast Suckling Pig with all the trimmings, Swann's favorite dish.

Prior to this elaborate dinner, the gentlemen were indulging in a little fencing practice out on the lawn, while the ladies observed from the balcony of the bedroom on the second floor that had been given over to the twins' use. Maggie had fed the babies and they now lay napping, sated and swaddled, on the wide bed.

The combatants included Charles and Owens, who were seen to have learnt a great deal from their mentors and gave the observers a spirited demonstration of their abilities.

While this was going forward Maggie was aware of her daughter Suzanna hovering close at hand. At one point, when Owens scored a hit, the girl clapped her hands and exclaimed, "Oh, he is _very_ good! Charles shall be beat to flinders!" and then blushed scarlet at having uttered something so revealing. But Harry said, easily, "He _is_ good! Jack has been working with him every day, and has been pleased with his progress," and Suzanna recovered her composure somewhat, until the match was over.

Owens was the victor, and he turned to give the ladies a jaunty salute. The older ones, divining the true recipient, favored Suzanna with smiling glances, at which the girl reddened again, and with an awkward little nod and wave of her hand to Owens, turned away and went to the bed, and became absorbed in the twin babies who had begun to rouse.

Charles, with a rueful look, went to stand by his stepfather, who greeted him with an encouraging smile. The two began to discuss the various points of the match, though they shortly became distracted as the next, between Will and Jack, began. Owens had joined the Governor, Father Taddeo, and young Tom, and endeavored to supplement the boy's enthusiastic, if inexpert, blow-by-blow account of the practice to the blind man, who was listening eagerly.

It was a battle royal between Will and Jack, and it ran unabated for many minutes. Will seemed at first clearly to have the upper hand, his great skill having been honed by additional years of practice. Will had youth on his side, as well, or so it would have seemed, but in this case Jack's age worked to his advantage. The pirate was by far the more experienced swordsman and, of course would not hesitate to use any trick he knew to win.

Harry, suddenly recognizing a familiar element in Jack's movements, flung over her shoulder, "Watch _this_, Elizabeth!" and then bounced and clapped and cheered when Will's sword went flying. Jack, hearing his wife's unseemly accolade, turned and bowed gracefully to her, and then was nearly knocked down by his son, whose congratulations consisted of a whooping tackle. Laughing, Jack picked Tom up and hugged him, and turned to catch the kisses Harry threw, eyes alight.

Will, so far from being upset, demanded to know the trick, as did Norrington and Charles. Jack's time had not been wasted in Italy, and he'd taught Owens, too. The rest of their practice time was taken up with the acquisition of this new skill, until the company was at last called in to supper.

o-o-o

The pig, complete with apple in its gaping mouth and a wreath of herbs 'round its crisp neck, had been done to a turn, the dishes accompanying it were of an excellence and variety to please the most exacting gourmet, and Weatherby Swann declared the company to be uniformly delightful.

"An excellent birthday celebration! I shall be very sorry to say adieu to our adventurers on the morrow."

"We should be back within a few weeks," said Norrington. "No more than three, I believe." This was offered as much to sooth Suzanna as Swann: James had noticed his stepdaughter's subtle air of agitation. She was blushing and unnaturally pale by turns, and she had been very quiet all through dinner, although she was polite enough to her neighbors, and refrained from casting longing looks at Owens, down the table from her, more than once every few minutes. Owens appeared to share her sentiments, and was looking a little pale himself, except when the projected quest for the Chalice was being discussed, during which he could not help but brighten considerably.

Swann said to Jack, "I still feel you are running an unnecessary risk in taking my sister with you. I am aware that the other representatives will bring their wives, but Harry can hardly be compared to the matrons one ordinarily encounters at these events. She's far too lively, and pretty, for one thing—they're usually close to gorgons, give you my word! And she can hardly be called the soul of discretion either, as you well know."

"All part of the plan, Gov'nor," said Jack, smirking at Harry from across the table. In consideration of her brother's natal day, Harry had promised to refrain from deliberately setting up his back. Weatherby, however, had made no such determination in her regard, and Jack knew she would be hard-pressed to keep her word if Swann continued in this vein.

Weatherby returned, "If your plan involves drawing as much attention to yourselves as possible, it should certainly bear fruit. It seems a dangerous game, however. I sincerely hope you know what you are doing."

"You needn't worry, Governor," said Norrington. "I will endeavor to ensure the safety of your sister and her spouse, and indeed that of our whole party. We shall return with the Chalice within the month, although it is a question whether we will return with an accord with the Spanish. Still, they will be bound to honor the truce during days of the summit."

Swann nodded, satisfied that Norrington's presence would at least be a stabilizing influence on the actions of his erratic relatives.

However, there was one listener who was not satisfied, and some time later, a low-voiced conversation took place in a moonlit alcove of the Swann gardens.

"Michael! Please… you must be careful. I have a great regard for Captain Sparrow, but I cannot think that he is acting sensibly in this matter. Putting you at risk! I have heard such rumours…the Spanish seem to be capable of truly dreadful atrocities!"

Michael Owens, who had few illusions about what men of any nationality were capable of, found his heart turning over with love of the darling creature standing before him. Suzanna, shy little Suzanna, whom he had loved almost since first setting eyes on her so many years ago, had, uncharacteristically, insisted on this clandestine meeting.

What Nurse Maria would say of such behavior did not bear consideration, and Owens was quite certain Admiral Norrington and Suzanna's mother would share her sentiments. The beautiful, and very young Suzanna Jane Norrington, compromised by Michael Owens, Irish Nobody? Even Captain Sparrow, who was possessed of a somewhat liberal view of proper etiquette, and who had been as a father to Owens for the last seven years, would likely look sternly on his protégé if he discovered it. Young, gently bred females simply did not arrange clandestine meetings with their… their lovers… no matter how innocent both parties' intentions.

_Lovers_.

"Su… Miss Norrington…" Owens began, but she cut him off.

"Michael, _do not_! We were children together! It has always been Michael and Suzanna between us, and I hope it always will. Indeed, I…oh, how I wish you were not going on this mission to Santiago!"

Owens caught her agitated hands in his, and she stilled. "Suzanna… _sweetheart_… all will be well…"

"Oh, _Michael_!" she exclaimed.

And suddenly the hands were loosed, her arms were going about his neck, and, with a gasp of surprise he was drawing the fairy-like creature against him. There was no dissembling: she turned her face up, eyes shining, and he could not help responding in kind. He kissed her, for the first time, and it was thrilling, and awkward, and then sheer delight as her impetuosity transmuted to sweet surrender.

Ending it with the greatest reluctance, he brushed his lips along her cheek, and whispered in her ear, "My darling!"

A soft exclamation of reciprocal joy hovered on her lips, but then she stiffened, abruptly, and her next words broke the spell.

"Oh! What's _that_?"

Michael frowned, suddenly noticing the vigorous rustling of some shrubbery some ways away and then a shriek split the night: "_Mama!_" Michael knew exactly what it was, and his heart froze.

A different voice: "Shut up! You shall not! Shut _up_, I tell you!"

"Tom, no! Tom!" A high-pitched wailing ensued, and the sound of a struggle.

Suzanna said, "Oh! Oh, it's Anne!"

"And Tom and Julietta," said Owens, grimly. "Now we're for it." Suzanna looked up at him, aghast, but he gathered his wits and gave her an encouraging wink and a smile. "It'll be all right. Let's go. Sounds as though Tom's trying to strangle your sister."

This was indeed the case. Owens and Suzanna, and Norrington, Jack and Will converged on the struggle from opposite directions to find Julietta being held down and ungently silenced by the smaller but very determined Tom, while little Anne was apparently attempting both to aid him and drag him from the scene.

Norrington snatched up Anne, who began to shriek demands to "let him alone, he was only trying to help!", while Jack plucked his offspring from the outraged victim, gave the boy a brief shake, and demanded to know, "What the devil's got into you, imp? You know better'n this I'll warrant!"

Tom, even as he was subdued, looked daggers at Julietta as she struggled to her feet, and hissed, "You shut up!" and then yelped and quickly shut up himself as Jack gave him a sharp swat.

Anne observing this heartless cruelty, objected in the strongest terms, but her father hugged her and said, "Hush, Anne!" in a tone meant to comfort and demand obedience at once, and the little girl clung to him and began to sob.

"Oh, Lord," said Owens, and squeezed Suzanna's cold hand, which she had tucked into his. She looked nearly ready to faint.

Julietta, struggling to her feet and horrified at the commotion she had caused, suddenly thought better of informing her parents of her sister's perfidy in throwing herself at Owens (for she'd long had designs on the handsome boy herself, and thought it most unfair that he thought her a Mere Child). She found herself stammering, "N-no! Indeed, 'twas all a mistake!" and, seeing Suzanna's white face and the hurt and accusation in her sister's eyes, Julietta cast her own down, quite ashamed.

But the damage had been done.

"Will," said Norrington calmly, "perhaps you would be so kind as to take Anne and Julietta to Nurse Maria, and let my wife know we will be leaving for home shortly."

"Certainly," said Will.

As she was taken from the Admiral, Anne uttered a heartbroken, "Tom! Oh, Tom!" before burying her face in Will's shoulder. Will carried the little girl off toward the house, herding the unhappy Julietta before him.

Jack said sternly, "Tom, you'll go straight to find your mother. I'll speak with you later."

Tom glanced at Owens, and then looked at his father again. "Nothing happened, Da'. Truly. 'Twas just the moonlight."

Jack's expression lightened at that. "The moonlight, eh? I know about moonlight, lad. Go to your mother now: it'll be all right."

A grim look crossed Tom's face, and he muttered, "Julietta's a…"

"_Go!_"

Tom went.

Jack straightened and faced the wantons, both romantically pale and apparently resigned to a Tragic Outcome.

To everyone's surprise, including her own, Suzanna spoke first, and even managed to refrain from bursting into tears while doing so. "Father… please… it was all my fault… but indeed, nothing… I mean… " She glanced up at her love. No, it certainly had not been 'nothing'. She drew herself up. "I asked him to meet me… and then I… I kissed him. Michael is blameless!"

"Blameless!" exclaimed Owens, foiling the spirit of sacrifice that had prompted this statement. "I'll swear, 'twas no such thing!"

Suzanna, surprised at this lapse on the part of her beloved, gave him an impatient look, but then caught the rueful amusement in his eyes, and found her hand being given a meaningful squeeze. "Oh, Michael!" she said, with fond exasperation.

That "Oh, Michael!" and the look that passed between the two were far greater proof of the true nature of their attachment than any rumour of kisses in moonlight. Jack shook his head, and couldn't help giving a crooked smile, but then the understandably irate father favored him with a glare and an arched brow. Jack demanded, low but sharp, "What?"

"Another mésalliance in the offing? What _is_ it about you, Sparrow?"

"_Me_? And how's this _my_ fault?"

"Over the past eight years it has been my observation that you seem to inspire ill-judged behavior by your very presence."

Out of consideration for Suzanna's tender ears, Jack refrained from uttering the oath that was hovering on his lips, and instead said pointedly, "Is that so? Does that include you an' Maggie?"

"There are exceptions to every rule, of course."

Jack briefly prayed for patience, and then, dismissing Admirals and their absurdities, turned to the miscreants. "Right then. Since affection appears to have outweighed sense between the two of you, I believe it's as well we'll be leaving tomorrow. Owens, you're with me. We'll go down to the _Pearl_ an' see that she's ready to sail with the tide, and we'll have a bit of _chat_ on the way, savvy? Miss Suzanna: we'll bid you good e'en and leave you to your father's care."

Owens turned to Suzanna. "I must go. I shall hope to see you tomorrow, at the harbor. Adieu."

He gave her such a loving, yet despairing little smile that Suzanna could do nothing but stare up at him, speechless; and then he turned and, with an apologetic look at Norrington, was gone, walking swiftly away toward the house with Captain Sparrow.

Despair, indeed. A great weight seemed to press against Suzanna's chest. Tears stung her eyes, and she caught her hands together as she faced her stepfather, who was coming toward her.

But he was limping slightly. He must be tired, for he had learned to cover his lingering disability quite well these last few weeks, except at the end of long, weary days like this when his imperfectly healed limb betrayed him. Indeed, he had risen and gone to the fort with the dawn that very morning, spending the early hours taking care of all the last minute preparations for his coming journey, just so he'd be in time to bring his family here, to the celebration, this evening.

And now... she had spoiled everything.

"Suzanna…" he began, his voice gentle, but very serious.

"Father! I'm so sorry. I care for him. I always have. But I should not have asked him to meet me out here. You must not be angry with him: he's a good man."

Norrington, who had, over the last seven years, been given far more evidence of Michael Owens' worth than Suzanna could well imagine, gave a bemused smile. _A good man_. He took her hands in an unconscious echo of Owens' own action and said, "He _is_ a man, now, isn't he? It seems like only yesterday he and Charles were half-grown lads. But if he is a man, so are you a woman, or nearly, and you must not tempt him in this way, my dear."

Suzanna was somewhat taken aback, for her only consideration had been the breech in etiquette, not of what lay behind the rule. A temptation! She could not help but be a little gratified, although surely fond prejudice lay behind the words.

But he squeezed her hands, and though his eyes smiled his voice was quite serious as he said, "I see you do not believe me, but I assure you it is no more than the truth. You are beautiful, very like to your mother as a girl, and you will grow to be more so, as she did. You must—you _must!_- consider your actions in that light. I, your staid and responsible guardian, nearly killed a man, once, over your mother, when she was little older than you are at this present. And now, I would not hesitate in the slightest, if the need arose. Do not underestimate what may lie between a man and woman, Suzanna."

She frowned up at him. Here was something momentous indeed. But…but _Michael_!

She took a deep breath. "May I hope then? Or should I set it away?"

He smiled slightly. "There is always hope. But you are both very young, as yet. I would not see you… ah… _marry in haste_…"

"…to _repent at leisure_." Suzanna smiled. He had not cited disparity of class or wealth, and if youth was the only obstacle, why, there was hope indeed! "Oh, thank you! Thank you!"

James let go her hands and drew her close, stroking her pale hair: so very like her mother. He said, "Well, I trust I do not do you a disservice by sparing you a scold. But your attachment is hardly a shock to us: you've worn a lovesick air when in Mr. Owens' vicinity for two years, at least."

"Oh, no!" she protested, straightening, appalled that she had behaved in so ill-bred a manner.

"Oh, yes! Quite shockingly transparent, I assure you. Come. Since we've reached an accord, let's go back to the house. I imagine Julietta's been pouring her woes into your mother's ear."

"And Tom into Lady Harry's! Oh, and Elizabeth. I suppose everyone must know."

"Very likely. But you will be more circumspect in future, no doubt."

"Yes!" said Suzanna, with some vehemence. But then she thought of Michael, and how her heart invariably leapt at the sight of him, and amended the statement: "At least, I will _try_."

o-o-o

The Governor's mansion lay quiet in the hour after midnight, when a small, pale figure made her way down the hall between the bedrooms, flitting from shadow to shadow. She counted the doors: 1… 2… 3… 4… and opened the fifth, as quietly as her little hands would let her. As she pushed it open, there came sudden, odd cries from within a bedroom nearby, and Anne gave a startled gasp and slipped inside the room, praying she'd found the right one.

"Who is it?"

It was Tom's voice! Anne shut the door. "It's me!" she said, hurrying over to where Tom lay in his big canopied bed.

"Come on!" he said, pulling back the covers for her.

"Are your parents all right?" she asked, concerned, as she crawled in beside him. "I thought I heard them."

"They're probably dreaming again," Tom said, knowledgably. "What're you doing here? You're going to have to go back, you know."

She snuggled against him. "I know. I wish they wouldn't make me sleep in that other room. They never used to do so."

"Aye. Well, we're not babies any more."

"What does that matter?"

"I don't know. Maybe they think we'll kiss, like your sister and Owens." Anne giggled at that, and Tom said, quickly, "Quiet! Someone might hear!"

"Sorry!" said Anne, who always minded her older and wiser friend. Then she said, "Julietta's a beast, isn't she?"

"Aye, she is that. Kissing of me our first day here, and then making a fuss about her sister and Owens! I'm glad I strangled her."

"Did your father thrash you for it?"

"Nah. He thought she deserved it too."

"Did he _say_ that?"

"Of course not. But I knew. I'm under orders not to do it again, though, so I won't. That's why I'm leaving."

"Oh, Tom, I wish you would not! If the Spanish catch you they'll grind your bones to make them bread."

"What? Where the devil'd you hear that?"

"It was in the story Maria told tonight. And you shouldn't swear in a lady's presence."

"Who's a 'lady'?" laughed Tom, and tickled her ribs until she giggled noisily and he had to put his hand over her mouth to make her be quiet again.

When he took the hand away, she said, fondly, "I wish you wouldn't go. Perhaps I could stay here the whole time. Or no! I could come with you!" Her eyes shone in her excitement at this new idea.

"You can't come. You're a _girl_!"

"What has that to say to anything? Your mother's a girl."

"No, she ain't!"

"You shouldn't say 'ain't'."

"My Da' does, and that's good enough for me."

"He doesn't _all_ the time. Sometimes he sounds just like your mother."

"That's just a disguise," said Tom. "And my mother's a woman, not a little girl who's barely out of nappies. You'd squeak and give us away. No, I'm going alone. You'll help me, won't you, like you promised?"

Anne sighed, resigned. "Yes. I suppose I will. But it's not fair. I thought we would have days and days and now you're going! I hardly ever see you!"

"Maybe you can come to St. Claire with us when we go back. I'll ask Mum and Da'."

"Would you? I'm old enough, am I not? To leave Mother, I mean. She has Hal and Little Jack now. She won't need me any more." This was such a very sad thought that Anne's voice grew quite wobbly.

But Tom scoffed at this. "What're you talking about? Of course she needs you! She'd miss you like the very devil!"

"Do you think so?" said Anne, and refrained from criticizing the swearing, for she could tell he meant it kindly.

"I know it. My mother'd miss me, too. That's another reason I'm going. I even went to Italy with her! Why shouldn't I go to Santiago?"

"But they said you were staying here."

"Well, they didn't _order_ me to stay here, and I'm not going to."

Anne sighed, resigned. "I love you, Tom."

"I know," said Tom. He grinned down at his fair companion, his dark eyes sparkling in the faint light. "When we're grown I'll take you all over the world with me, and we'll have adventures every day. Savvy?"

She beamed at him. "Yes, Tom. I savvy!"


	7. Stowaway

**Chapter Six: _Stowaway_**

Anne was playing quietly with her box of shells in the front parlour, arranging them in beautiful patterns, or into pictures: birds… faces… houses. A ship. Her mother, who occasionally remarked on the excellence of her work, sat close at hand on the sofa, nursing Hal, while Little Jack, having finished his repast, lay wrapped in a light blanket, beside her, sound asleep. The westering sun shone pale through the windows, a few stray dust motes dancing in the rays. There were delicious scents wafting faintly from the kitchen, for they were expecting guests, and since the weather had been a little cooler, cook was making roast chicken, and a fruit tart for dinner: two of Anne's favorite dishes. All in all, Anne knew this should have been a moment of considerable contentment.

It should have been.

Anne gave a little frowning glance up at her mother occasionally. Once Mother had seen her do it, and looked an inquiry.

"Is everything all right, darling?"

Anne had forced a smile to her lips, and nodded, and then went back to arranging her shells, but felt Mother's concerned eye lingering on her.

And then, at last, there came the sound of merry voices, and footsteps coming up the walk.

"There they are, and just in time!" said Mother, tucking the now-sated Hal safely beside his brother on the sofa. Anne sat up, biting her lip, and watched Mother tidy her dress and rise to greet the new arrivals.

The parlour door opened after a moment. Betsy, the maid, announced, "Mr. and Mrs. Turner, ma'am."

"My dear!" said Mother, and embraced Elizabeth.

"How good it was of you to invite us, Maggie! I have been going over Will's accounts ever since the ship left this morning, and I am famished!"

"As am I," said Will. "It smells wonderful!"

"Roast Chicken glazed with a fruit syrup and herbs—a specialty of my cook's. But where is Tom? Did he go upstairs? Anne has been waiting to play with him, I think." But at these words, the young couple looked startled, and then concerned. "What?" demanded Maggie, her heart skipping a beat.

Will said, "But Tom was with you, was he not? We were to fetch him home, after dinner."

"No! Why… that can't be! Anne said he'd wanted to stay with you for the day. At least…" Maggie frowned, remembering that this had been her assumption, and that Anne had not really affirmed this, but had evaded the question. She looked down at her little daughter, who met her eye only briefly and then resumed a close scrutiny of Will's buckled shoes.

Elizabeth also turned her gaze on the fair-haired sprite, her fine eyes narrowing, and one brow lifting. She said to Maggie, slowly, "But no! He was to stay here to play with Anne for the afternoon, and then we were to bring Tom home after supper. Is that not correct, Anne?"

Anne glanced up then, and found that they were all three eyeing her, very seriously. She swallowed hard, and thought, _Oh, Tom!_

"Anne?" prompted her mother.

Anne, took a big breath, and managed to say, "I… he… he's _gone_!" before taking refuge in a storm of tears.

o-o-o

Jack Sparrow had taught his son many things.

Born in the Captain's Cabin of the _Black Pearl_, Tom had almost immediately shown signs of having the sea in his blood as his father did, and was never so contented as he was when sailing. He was born to be a sailor, and he meant, some day, to be a captain, too.

Tom had heard the story of his first voyage, from Barbados to Jamaica and thence to St. Claire, many times, and, in his early years, there had been a number of other shorter voyages: from St. Claire to Port Royal and back again, mostly, and once to Tortuga for a brief visit. Then, after his baby sister had died, there had come a much, much longer voyage, first to England where he'd had to wear heavy and uncomfortable clothes against the cold and rain, and had met a bewildering variety of relations who usually insisted on pinching his cheeks, or fixed him with disconcerting stares. And then they'd gone farther, south and then east, to Italy, where it was sunny and warm as home, and where his mother had at last learned to laugh again.

Tom had turned five years old during that voyage, no longer a baby, and his father had accordingly taken his education in hand: his real education, mind, not a mere shuffling of books, and papers and quills (though there had been some of that too, for, somewhat to his surprise, Tom had been brought to realize that his father had the same love of such things as his mother did). No, mostly it had been learning the sea, and the ship, his father's pride, the _Black Pearl._

Jack had taken great delight in teaching his son, showing him everything, even things one might assume were too much for such a young lad to learn. But Tom had taken to it like his sparrow namesake to the sweet, bright skies, showing what most considered a surprising aptitude for all things nautical, though it was no more than Jack had expected of him. Tom was sharp and quick, brave and reckless, and occasionally foolish ("And where's he get that from, eh, Jack?" asked Gibbs, a teasing twinkle in his eye), and before the voyage back from Italy was done he'd learned of every part of the great ship.

He was not allowed to go aloft, though he enjoyed nothing more than watching the men adjust the sails, great lines of them on the yards to reef for heavy weather, or putting on more canvas when the wind was at their backs. He dearly wished to work beside them, his friends one and all, weathered and gruff on the outside but so cheerful and kind, and even sentimental within. He and his father had exchanged words on the subject of this prohibition more than once, and Tom knew it was only a matter of time, his own if not his father's, before he would be scrambling up the ratlines among the ropes and canvas.

The rest of the ship was a different matter. Jack had taken him all over it, to every nook and cranny, and had told his son all about it as he'd done so. Tom had also explored much of the lower decks at other times, in the company of various crewmembers, or on his own when he managed to elude his keepers. Tom loved the _Black Pearl_, and he knew the body of the great ship like he knew the back of his hand.

He knew, for example, that there were numerous ways to get on and off the _Black Pearl_, whether by rope or gangplank, or the Jacob's Ladder. Or through the gun ports. Or, if one was quite small, and wanted to be very secretive, one could board by crawling into one of the openings through which the _Pearl's_ sweeps were deployed.

And once aboard, he knew where the supplies were kept: where there was fresh water to be had and where the food was stowed. He knew when these storage places would not be watched, and he knew which stores would not be readily missed, even special ones like Anatole's supply of dried fruits that he used in making Mother's scones.

And finally, he knew that there were places in the hold, dimly lit, secret places, where a little boy might make a temporary home and hide, snug and comfortable, and quite out of the way of the crew and captain, with just the ship's marmalade cat and her three half-grown kittens for company, until, at last, one screwed up one's courage, and took the plunge, and chose to reveal one's presence as a stowaway.

o-o-o

Harry and James were on the second course when Jack was finally able to come down for dinner.

"What a day!" he groaned, slipping bonelessly into his seat at the table. "And tomorrow'll be worse." He took the bottle of rum that Anatole had thoughtfully set at his place and poured a splash into the mug.

"How restrained of you," remarked Norrington, watching Jack tossing the drink back. "I myself am on my second glass of this excellent wine."

"Aye, well you don't have to go back up, do you? Bloody hell, I thought this voyage was going to be a pleasure cruise, and instead it's been one thing after another."

Harry smiled sympathetically, and put a serving of fish on his plate. "At least the problems with the ship have not delayed us, much. And tomorrow won't be so very bad."

"Ha!" Jack laughed bitterly. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to sit there for hours with Alphonse pullin' at your hair."

"Well, no. I still maintain you should have tried a wig this time."

"You know I can't abide wearin' a wig," Jack snapped.

Harry's brows arched in surprise, and Norrington fixed his ill-tempered friend with a baleful eye.

Jack grimaced, disgusted with the numerous minor but annoying disasters that had cropped up that day, with the prospect of his painful and painstaking transformation to 'Gentleman' on the morrow, and now with himself, too. "Sorry love," he said to Harry. He picked up her hand and kissed it. "I'm an old villain."

She smiled forgiveness, but said, "Do you really have to go back up? I thought perhaps I could think of something pleasant to… ah… ease you a bit, after dinner."

"_Ease_ me, eh?" Jack grinned at that.

She said, silkily, "A therapeutic manipulation of the tissues, for example, can be most efficacious."

James groaned and shook his head. "Harry, you might at least wait for me to take my leave before embarking on this seduction."

"I was going to rub his temples!" she protested, mischief in her eyes. "He has the headache!"

Jack sighed. "I do, that."

"Well, eat some supper, then, pirate," said James. "You're likely feeling peckish, is all. You've not eaten since breakfast."

"Too much to do," Jack grumbled. He said to Harry, "I _will_ have to go back up, love, but I shouldn't be too long. And then you can… how'd you put it? Manipulate me tissues. All ye like."

Harry smirked, and spooned some braised vegetables onto his plate, and James firmly directed the conversation into more conventional lines.

They were nearly done, and Jack was beginning to grouse tiredly about having to go topside again, when there came a knock and, on Jack's barked permission, the door opened and Owens popped his head in, looking oddly wary.

"_What_?' Jack demanded, sharply. "Devil take it, what _now_?"

Owens frowned at this greeting, but opened the door and came in, drawing after him a small figure. "Seems we've got a stowaway, Captain."

Harry's heart gave a dreadful lurch at the sight of her son. "Oh, Jack!" she whispered, and turned to look at her husband, fearing what she would find in his face.

With reason.

For a long moment he didn't say anything, just stared in mounting fury at the sight of the miscreant.

Tom was seen to swallow hard, his hand gripping that of his friend. "Da?" he ventured, unsteadily. "You… you didn't _order_ me not to come…"

It was the wrong thing to have said. An expression of pure rage crossed Jack's face, and he stood up and held out his arm, pointing stiffly at the door. "Owens, put him in the brig and leave him! _Now_!"

Owens blinked. "The _brig_? But…"

"NOW!"

Owens stiffened. "Aye, sir. Come on then, Tom."

o-o-o

Tom held Owens' hand tight as they retreated. The boy had never seen his father look quite that angry before, much less had that anger directed at himself, and it had made him feel so cold he hadn't been able to move for a moment. But then he'd glanced at his mother, and she had looked so unhappy that he really couldn't bear it. He'd quickly turned away and stumbled after Owens, who pulled him out the door. The muffled sounds of his father's and mother's raised voices followed them down the passageway.

Owens didn't speak to him as he was led topside, and across the wide expanse of deck where so many amused and pitying eyes watched. Then they were going down, down, down the many steps, into the bowels of the great ship, to a place Tom had seen only a couple of times: the brig.

Two great iron cages in a lightless space that smelt of tar and seawater and, faintly, of other, much less pleasant things. Not that the conditions prevalent during Barbossa's negligent rule had gone unremedied. The leaks had been repaired, and the space was kept as clean and dry as could be managed. But the misery and fear of past occupants had seeped into the wood, and there was no eliminating that stench, no matter how many times the rough planking underfoot was swabbed.

His father had brought him here the first time, on a calm day when they were in the middle of the Atlantic, on their way back home from Italy. Tom had by that time quite a thorough knowledge of the _Black Pearl's_ other areas, but he'd heard about the brig in story and rumour, and had begged to see it.

"Too many memories here," his father had said, but finally assented, and while Tom looked about he'd told his boy in simple words of the two times he'd been locked up there, speaking in a flat, emotionless tone, that made Tom turn to stare at him, and to shiver at the haunted look in his eyes.

Finally Jack's voice had trailed off, and Tom had gone to him. "Let's go back up topside, Da," he'd said, taking his hand.

And Jack, coming back from the dark memories, had looked at him and smiled. "Aye, let's."

And now he was sending Tom to stay in that dark place. Alone.

"You'll be all right, Tom," said Owens, unlocking the door. He held a lantern, to light the way, else there'd be no seeing at all. Owens wrinkled his nose as they walked in, set the lantern on the floor, and took the keys from the wall. "Which one will it be, lad?" he said sadly, indicating the two cages.

Tom said nothing for a moment, just stared at them, and felt as though he was going to cry. Then Owens crouched beside him.

"You'll be all right!" he said, his voice light and reassuring. "He won't leave you here long."

Tom looked at Owens. "He… he's…"

"He's had a bad day, Tom. You picked a rotten time to show yourself, that's all. He'll come get you in a bit, no doubt of it."

"You think he'll thrash me?"

Owens laughed a little. "Maybe. I might do it myself, were you my son. But you must've known you were takin' that chance."

Tom bit his lip, and looked away, seeing the shadowy cells again. "That one," he said, finally, pointing. It was the one his father had been in. Both times.

"That one it is, then." Owens got up, face set, and went to unlock the door.

Tom went in of his own accord, and stood there in the middle of the space, looking around, feeling quite lost, trying to bring back the sound of his father's voice telling his story. And then Tom jumped as Owens laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Here's a couple of blankets for you. It's a bit cold an' damp here. And I'll leave the lantern, of course."

"K-keep the rats away, aye?" Tom managed, and succeeded in smiling a little as he took the blankets. "Thanks, Owens."

Owens mouth twisted. "He didn't say I wasn't to check on you. If he doesn't come soon enough, I'll be back."

Tom nodded, and looked away, a dreadful lump in his throat. He took a deep breath and went over to the corner of the cell, and began to make a little nest of the blankets, blinking against the stinging behind his eyes, at the sounds of the cell door being locked, of his friend's footsteps fading away.

o-o-o

Jack was at the helm, trying to calm himself, and not succeeding, his mind seething. Harry had been near to weeping when he'd left her, and he knew James, who'd shaken his head at Jack's display of temper, had stayed to speak with her and soothe her fears. As though the boy didn't deserve to be punished. As though Jack hadn't every right to be furious.

The cunning whelp! Playing it so sly: never giving the least sign he wasn't quite happy to stay in Port Royal while his parents arranged a bit of sleuthing and burglary to retrieve the padre's cup. And Jack had fallen for it, like a bleedin' idiot. When had the boy _ever_ not made a fuss about being left behind? That easy acquiescence should have made it obvious what mischief was brewing in that little head.

Bloody hell.

He'd ranted at first that they'd turn the ship 'round straightaway, and take Tom back to Port Royal. But James had reminded him they would then be late for the beginning of the summit, instead of early, increasing the difficulty of investigating the ways and means of their true purpose. And Harry had begged him to reconsider, too, pointing out that in a few weeks they would likely be off across the Atlantic again, carrying Father Taddeo and, hopefully, the cup, home to Italy, a voyage on which Tom was to begin to learn the duties of a Cabin Boy: he would simply be starting a little sooner, now, that was all.

A Cabin Boy who thought he bloody owned his father's ship! Jack would be damned if he'd put up with the boy's pranks, not all the way to bloody Europe and back!

Jack ground his teeth.

He looked down at the main deck, where Owens was leaning on the rail in the moonlight, talking to Charles Norrington. The two were being careful not to glance too obviously in his direction, but he knew of what they were speaking. And of whom.

Bloody whelp. _His_ bloody whelp. God knew he'd never wanted to be a father. Though he had to admit, most of the time it felt like one of the best things in his life. That wasn't really something he could tell anyone, or explain, even to himself. It was just that now he understood when one of his men sat bemused over a letter from home, understood the light in another man's eyes when he showed Jack what looked to be a rather poorly executed miniature of a wife and child.

He'd once thought the sea and the _Black Pearl_ would be his only loves, that they'd always be enough. But Harry, and then Tom had come into his life, and he knew he'd just been fooling himself about that. And he also knew, now, that he'd lay down his life for any of them.

He thought of Tom, his boy, sitting in that cage below, scared and alone.

He _should_ be scared. Jack had been stunned, and then immediately furious, seeing Tom standing there beside Owens. After a day of unexpected and highly annoying problems with his crew and his beloved ship, and now this: the prospect of constant niggling worry for the next three weeks! He supposed he'd have to assign one of the men to play nursemaid for the duration of this little holiday. After Jack got through with him, of course.

And that was another thing that made him furious. As much as the boy deserved it, Jack didn't want to thrash Tom. Such measures had done more harm than good with himself, God knew, inspiring resentment rather than contrition, and bringing to the fore a terrible itch for the unwise, and a sight more caution in going about it. And Tom was as like him as he could stare, and not only in appearance.

Or was he just fooling himself, shrinking from his duty as a father? He knew many of his crew would think so. _Spare the rod_, and all that.

Bloody hell.

A solemn tread coming up the steps brought Jack back to the moment. Norrington.

"How is she?" asked Jack as the Admiral came toward him, and he sounded testy, even to his own ears.

Norrington lifted a brow. "She wasn't weeping when I left her, if that's what you mean."

Jack swore.

James said to him, "Jack, use the sense God gave you and finish the business. We'll all be better for a night's rest."

"Finish it, eh?" Jack looked at James for a long moment. And then he said, "Take the wheel, would you? I'm goin' below."

o-o-o

It had been a long time, and still his father hadn't come. Owens hadn't come back, either. There was just the lantern's glow, and the sound of the waves' faint booming sibilance.

There were ghosts here, too. Tom might have been afraid, if it hadn't been the _Pearl's _brig. But it was, and the _Black Pearl_ cared for him. Tom had known that, for a long time now, knew it even before his Da had told him so.

So, in spite of hunger and thirst, cold, and evil smells, his mother's dismay, and above all his father's terrible anger that held the probability of humiliating and painful retribution, Tom was, after a while, lulled to sleep, propped in a corner of the cell, and wrapped to the chin in the rough blankets that were kept for the brig's unfortunate occupants. It was not a deep, or very restful sleep, but it took him out of himself so that when awareness returned and he opened his eyes to find Jack there, outside the cell, it seemed as though his father had just appeared out of nowhere.

Tom gave an involuntary gasp at the sight of the grim countenance looking at him through the wide grate, and sat up with a jerk. His father said nothing, but just unlocked the door, and Tom struggled to his feet as it was done. He felt cold when he dropped the blankets, and cold on the inside too, and he bit his lip and told himself he must be brave, that his father would expect nothing less.

"Get out here, whelp," said Jack.

Tom obeyed, and flinched only a little as his father's hand closed on his arm.

There was no conversation as Tom was hauled topside and walked across the moonlit deck, aft, to the cabins. Owens and Charles were standing by the rail, and as they approached, Jack snapped, "Owens, I've need of your cabin for a bit."

"Aye, Captain," said Owens, sounding relieved. He cast Tom a look of sympathy and encouragement, which wasn't much comfort at all.

When they reached Owens' cabin, the cabin Tom had always shared with the older lad, Jack jerked the door open and gave his son a little peremptory shove.

"In ye go, whelp."

The cabin was small, and Tom scrambled onto the narrow cot where Owens usually slept, turning and scooting back, as close to the bulkhead as possible, as far from his father's reach as he could manage. He knew such a tactic would do more harm than good, but he could not seem to help this display of cowardice, now that Dire Fate was upon him.

Jack had closed the door, and was busy for a moment lighting the cabin's little lantern. The light flared up gold, casting familiar, friendly shadows, but making his father's unsmiling face look that much fiercer. Tom steeled himself as best he could, and managed to meet the dark gaze that seemed to see right into him.

Jack raised a brow. "So. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Remembering his father's reaction to the last exchange they'd had, Tom figured he'd already said enough. Still, Tom saw that he was expected to say _something_, so, in a very small voice, he asked what was foremost on his mind at present: "Are you going to thrash me, Da?"

Jack's face hardened further. "No, I'm not."

Tom stared, sudden relief making him feel almost lightheaded. "You're not?"

"No. And you know why, whelp? Because this too serious for that, innit? And you're not getting' off that easy."

Tom frowned in confusion. But his father went on.

"Though maybe I should start with that. Think that'd help you remember you're expected to do the right thing whether the order's given or not?" Jack's voice, beginning with a growl, ended on a very sharp note, and his son's eyes widened.

"N-no! I'll remember," Tom stammered quickly.

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched, and he narrowed his eyes. "You'd better, whelp, for I've your measure now, see? You want orders? I'll give you orders. What do you think we're going to do with that Chalice when we get it?" Tom blinked at this non-sequitur, and Jack snapped, "_Think_!"

"I don't…give it to Father Taddeo?"

"Aye. And where does the good Father live, eh?"

"Italy." Tom gasped, and exclaimed joyfully, "We're going back to Italy?"

"Well, your mother and I are going. Whether you come along is a point that's yet to be determined."

Tom stared, and then blurted, "Da! You wouldn't leave me behind!"

Jack's face was set like stone. "Oh, but I would, whelp. An ye don't follow my orders to the letter for the rest of this voyage, you're going to get to know your Uncle Weatherby a great deal better in the very near future."

Tom was horrified. "Uncle Weatherby?"

"Aye," said Jack. "We spoke of this a few days ago, and he offered to take charge of you when we go. Thought it'd be better you start your schooling, and get a bit more discipline. God knows you'd get little enough on St. Claire: you've got 'em all wrapped 'round that grubby finger of yours, haven't you?"

Tom looked guilty, but did not reply.

Jack said, "I told your Uncle no thanks, I'd be takin' you along. You're near old enough to work as a Cabin Boy: seven years in a couple of months. You're smart as a whip, and I've no doubt you'll learn to be a fine sailor, and maybe more than that. But lad, I'll tell ye true, if you can't use your head, as well as obey an order, you'll not be learning on the _Black Pearl_!"

Tom gasped, "But, Da…"

"_But, Da_ nothin'!" Jack snapped. "I'll not have anyone workin' aboard this ship that I can't rely on, an' that includes you, whelp. Especially you."

Tom's lip quivered. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Jack stared down at him for a tense moment, and then suddenly his anger seemed to dissipate. He came and sat on the edge of the cot, and Tom shuffled forward to sit beside him, and closed his eyes against tears as his father's arm went about his shoulders. "I don't want to leave you behind, Tom. But I will. Since you're here, you can consider this voyage a test: you'll think, an' you'll follow orders, and if by the time we pull into the docks at Port Royal you've not done a satisfactory job of it, it's a year in the Governor's mansion for ye, 'cause that's how long your mother an' I'll be gone."

Tom looked up, and saw his father's unsmiling face, more serious than he'd ever seen it.

Jack said, "Savvy, Tom?"

Tom nodded. And then, fighting back a sob, hugged his father as tight as he could. The strong arm tightened about his shoulders.

After a bit, Jack said, "So, did you leave word, or do they think you've drowned?"

Tom sat up and wiped his eyes, and sniffed. He looked up at his father uncertainly, suddenly aware he wouldn't like this part, either. "Annie told 'em," he ventured. And saw that he'd been right.

"Annie!" Jack gave his son a look of disgust. "You _owe_ her, lad."

Tom grimaced. "I know."

"All right," said Jack. He got up, and pulled Tom to his feet as he did so. "Go see your mother, now. She maybe thinks I've murdered you."

He opened the door and they went down the passageway together. Jack let him in the Great Cabin, and Tom went in, hesitantly.

Harry was sitting by the windows, where she had been looking out at the sea, but she had turned with a start and now stood up, looking first at Tom, and then, with relief, at Jack. And then she smiled, rather mistily, and opened her arms for her little boy.

Tom ran to her, saying, "It's all right. I'm all right!" and she laughed through her tears, and gathered him against her.

And Jack, seeing them together, could not help smiling just a bit, too.


	8. Santiago

**_Chapter Seven: Santiago_**

"How lowering it is to once again be reminded that, of the two of us, _you_ are the more beautiful."

Alphonse schooled his features with some difficulty on hearing this saddened, and (he felt) debatable observation. His Amelie had finished dressing Madame Sparrow a few minutes before, and the lady now seemed to consider it her wifely duty to supervise the completion of her lord's more elaborate toilette. To this end, she had come to stand beside his chair, watching the process and his changing expressions with interest. The valet's eyes flicked to the ornate mirror and saw the Captain's eyes narrow as he met his lady's mournful gaze. Alphonse was still applying hot irons to the long, dark hair, which precluded movement, but Jack did say, silkily, "Right. Go on. You just continue in that vein, Miss Impertinence. I'll have the entire day to consider the exact nature of tonight's Revenge."

Lady Harry abandoned pretense and dimpled. Leaning down, she nuzzled her cheek against his hair, already in soft, scented curls on that side, and was heard to murmur, "Mmmm…_revenge!_ But don't you feel such thoughts will be somewhat… _distracting_? Might spoil the line of those elegant trews."

Alphonse was betrayed into laughter, and pleaded, "_Madame_! I beg of you! My hand must be steady to accomplish this task without incident!"

"Aye!" growled the Captain. "If he burns me ear, it's _your_ backside that'll pay. Should've listened to my better instincts and left you with your brother."

"Oh, that wouldn't have been any fun at all!" Madame pouted. "And you know you would have missed me dreadfully."

"Quite beside the point. Between you and Tom, how'm I s'posed to attend to the task at hand?"

"Jack!" Tom's doting mother objected. "Tom has been good as gold!"

"For a whole twenty-four hours," Tom's father retorted. "And he was asleep for ten of that. He was in here a bit ago, askin' a hundred questions about _that_ lot, before I sent him to the rightabout." Jack gestured slightly at the assortment of beads, coins, and other more exotic objects lying in and around a little box on the vanity table in front of him.

Alphonse had carefully removed the precious ornaments from Jack's hair just that morning, for, thanks to the many hours of careful grooming that the valet had expended on the pirate's exotic coiffure over the years, he'd been able to assure his master that the uncomfortable but temporarily necessary transformation to fashionable gentleman (or 'fancified prig' as Jack called it) could be accomplished during the early hours, just before their arrival in Santiago. Jack had readily accepted the reprieve the day before, though it made for a difficult morning now. This particular disguise was Jack's least favorite of the several he'd had occasion to assume over the years that Alphonse had been in his service. _Bloody togs're too clean an' close. And havin' to bare me face, and get painted up like some strumpet! Probably end up wearin' a damned patch, as well! _Both Lady Harry and Alphonse had been treated to these and similar complaints recently, and both knew that behind the words lay an unvoiced concern. Stripped of his facial hair and eye-blacking, and with his own abundant hair carefully combed and curled into the semblance of an exquisite's wig, Jack's appearance changed utterly. His face had a stunning, youthful symmetry that inevitably provoked stares from women and men alike, and the occasional hints of vulnerability in his eyes and expression were far more noticeable. Alphonse knew this exposure made Jack uncomfortable, but as a disguise it was nearly foolproof, for the man thus revealed held little outward sign of the celebrated pirate captain.

Madame picked up one of the ornaments, a certain brightly painted wooden bead, which was associated with a memorably ribald tale. "What did you tell him about _this_ one?" Her eyes twinkled at Jack's in the mirror.

Jack frowned. "Aye, I suppose he went to ask _you_, after I threw him out. What did you tell him?"

"That he must ask you again, when he's older."

"Don't suppose you thought to specify how _much_ older?"

"Oh, no!" said Harry, blithely. "It is not a tale for a child of course, but you wouldn't want him to have it from another source, would you?"

Jack sighed. "Y'know, there's more to this bein' a father than I ever imagined."

The teasing look vanished, and Lady Harry bent and tenderly kissed the painted cheek, right beneath the patch that Alphonse had indeed carefully placed on one sharply defined cheekbone. "You are a wonderful father!"

Jack smiled slightly at this old refrain, but there was a defensive note in his voice as he said, "At least he sees more of me than I did of mine, in spite of me bein' a sailor."

"Oh, yes," his lady agreed. "And he has such love and respect for you. Truly! You would not want him to be other than he is: he is like you in so many ways!"

"I know it." A crease appeared between the neatly plucked brows.

Lady Henrietta watched her husband's gaze drop to the little box again. The ornaments contained were mementoes of wondrous, merry, salacious, and occasionally alarming adventure, but there were scars on the body beneath the gentleman's fashionable frippery that were stark evidence of far grimmer tales.

She said, "We can't protect him entirely. You know that."

"Exactly what I'm always sayin' to you, love. But…" he frowned and, after a brief glance at Alphonse in the mirror, went on in a low voice, "you know what I mean. He skins his knee and I feel it. I give 'im a scold an' it damn near breaks my heart."

"I know. I know." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, crushing his dark curling hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her hug just a little.

"Madame! Madame, please!" said Alphonse, his voice not quite steady.

"Sorry!" Harry straightened, and smiled as the valet fluffed Jack's hair. "It's beautiful, Alphonse! You've done a marvelous job."

Jack laughed shortly. "_Beautiful_, again." He pushed back the chair and stood up, straightening his coat, then turned away from the mirror.

"_Oui, mon Capitaine_," said Alphonse, firmly. "Both you and your lady. How you will both turn heads at this summit—the mind can barely comprehend it! The others will be quite cast into the shade."

Jack had crooked his arm while Alphonse was speaking, and Harry slipped her hand in, and looked up at him, eyes alight. He took a deep breath, and winked at her, and finally smiled. "Well, that's the plan, ain't it? Ready to dazzle 'em, lass?"

"Oh, yes. Quite! Act Two, Scene One_: In which my Lord and Lady Byrd are introduced_!"

o-o-o

'Captain' Gibbs and his crew had brought the _'Royal Swan'_ into the harbor at Santiago with little surreptitious direction from 'Lord John Byrd', who was, however, permitted access to the quarterdeck, along with 'Lady Byrd', and Admiral Norrington.

"White sails!" Jack groused, for perhaps the tenth time in the last four days. "Lord, I'll be happy when we can put up the black ones again!"

"Aye, don't seem right," agreed Gibbs. "But don't fret—we'll start changin' 'em out soon as we leave the harbor with the chalice."

The new white sails were not the only change that had gone into the _Pearl's_ disguise. Some of her trim had been painted gold, and a large, ornate plaque emblazoned with the ship's assumed identity had been fastened over the stern. The crew, too, were disguised, having been provided with garments that were not only uncomfortably new, but were of a much more conservative cut than those they usually wore. Jack was a little surprised at how nicely his men cleaned up, and said as much to Gibbs.

"Aye, well, you're dressed like Christmas beef yourself, Jack. Suits you, it does. You'd never know there was a scallywag under all that paint an' finery. Your lady, too, if I might be so bold."

Jack smiled, looking over at Harry where she stood by the rail, trim and elegant in a deep blue traveling dress, hair tightly confined in neat, upswept style that showed off the delicious line of her neck. She turned to face him, lips slightly parted in an excited smile, her wide brown eyes sparkling with pleasure.

"It is lovely here!" she exclaimed. "The mountains, the harborand so many ships! But I fancy the _Royal Swan_ will still stand out among them."

"Not too much, I hope. And we certainly don't want to draw attention from _that_ quarter." Jack nodded toward the enormous gray stone fort, brooding on the cliff top, away off to starboard: _El Morro_, as the locals called it, bane of pirates and other enemies of the city.

"No, indeed!" agreed Harry, with a frown.

Norrington, coming up the steps to the quarterdeck, said, "I expect they are under orders to scrutinize incoming vessels, but I think we need not worry. The ship's disguise is most effective." The Admiral stopped and looked Jack up and down. His lips quivered, but he managed to keep the laughter from his voice as he observed, "As is your own, Jack. You look most…beau—"

"_Don't_ say it! Do _not_ bloody say it!" snapped Jack, scowling fiercely.

"Now, Captain! This vitriolic demeanor is hardly in keeping with your disguise."

"My demeanor is most adaptable, Admiral, and _will_ adapt when I've need for it to do so. Until that time, I'll thank you to remember who's captain aboard this ship. Besides, didn't your mam ever tell you it's most impolite to remark on a fella's appearance?"

"Why, yes," Norrington conceded. "However, I believe she spoke in reference to disparaging remarks, rather than compliments."

"Nevertheless."

Norrington chuckled. "Very well. Not another word. I promise."

"Excellent. Captain Gibbs: it appears we're bein' hailed by the harbormaster."

They were indeed: though the ship would have to drop anchor in the harbor for the duration of the summit, the _Royal Swan_ was being invited to pull up to the city docks to allow her diplomatic entourage to debark in comfort. Jack hid a smile at his wife's obvious relief. He knew she would not have made a fuss about negotiating the Jacob's Ladder down to a longboat, but the procedure was always a test of her courage. Early in their acquaintance, Jack had nurtured the hope that Harry would eventually become accustomed to climbing the rope ladders and ratlines that gave access to the various heights found on his ship—perhaps, one day, even be able to accompany him skyward, to the _Pearl's_ crow's nest. He longed to show her the wondrous views, and have her experience the feeling of nearly flying, immersed in sun and air, surrounded by the vast disc of shining silver sea. However, after nearly eight years with her, this hope had been, if not abandoned, at least set aside as unlikely. Governor Swann had told Jack that this fear of heights had plagued Harry even as a child, although he'd no recollection of any particular incident that might have precipitated the tendency. Harry rarely spoke of it herself, and Jack knew that her failure to overcome it caused his darling no little chagrin, for she was an intrepid soul in nearly every other way.

She now exclaimed unguardedly, "Oh, how good of them! I mean… it will make it so much easier to offload the baggage, don't you think?"

Far too convenient an opening. "Aye, it will," said Jack, blandly. "And the baggage's husband, too." He managed a straight face until she turned to him, coloring, and then he and Norrington and Gibbs all three gave in to laughter, which Harry finally could not help but join.

o-o-o

Norrington and Jack dealt with the round little mustachioed official who had been sent to greet the Jamaican delegation and clear them for debarkation. The Admiral spoke a little Spanish and understood a little more, but Jack, assuming the persona of the effete 'Lord Byrd' babbled at the man in purest, lisping Castilian.

"_Ah. Sí. Sí, señor_!" The man bowed, though he looked somewhat taken aback by Jack's mincing and fluttering. "We did not realize you were so fluent in our tongue. It is arranged that your party will stay in the home of our former diplomat to England, Don Alejandro Corozon."

"_Corozon!_" The Admiral and the Cuban official both stared in surprise at Jack's sharp exclamation. He collected himself, and smiled, and bowed. "I have heard of Don Corozon, you see. How delightful it will be to make his acquaintance at last. And I'm sure the Admiral and others of our party will be much more comfortable staying in a house where English is spoken. This is most considerate of you, and we thank you."

The little Spaniard bowed. "Don Corozon and his wife have been sent word of your coming and are waiting at their home to greet you. If you will gather the rest of your party: the carriages are waiting." He then turned away to direct the loading of the small mountain of luggage onto a wagon.

As they walked back up the gangplank, Norrington said quietly, "What the devil, Jack? Do you know this Corozon?"

"If it's the same one I'm thinkin' of…" Jack broke off and looked at Norrington with rueful amusement. "It was a long time ago. We took his ship."

"Took his ship! Good God! _How_ long ago?"

"How long ago was _what_?" demanded Harry, who was waiting at the top of the gangplank. She was frowning at Jack's expression. "What's happened?"

Jack's lips quivered. "We're to stay with the former ambassador to England: one Don Alejandro Corozon and his wife."

Harry's brows twitched together. The name was vaguely familiar. "You know him?"

"If it's the same man. And I know his wife rather better than that. Don't you remember me telling you? Before the _Dauntless_ came for you that day?"

Norrington's brows rose in surprise as comprehension dawned on Harry's face, at which she blushed furiously. "You mean… your _Querida_?"

Jack gave a self-satisfied smirk. "You _do_ remember!"

Harry glanced at James, reddened further, and said in a low voice to Jack, "Of course I remember! How could I forget anything that happened that day? But… what are we going to do? Do you think she'll know you?"

"I've no idea. But we've no choice but to risk it."

"What are you talking about, Sparrow?" demanded James, feeling very much left out of the conversation. "How is it you know the wife of this Corozon?"

"Couple o' months after we took the ship Corozon was traveling on, we raided this little town and… well, to make a long story short, Tobias—he was the _Pearl's_ captain –he sent me to escort her safe to her home, a few miles away." Seeing Norrington's skeptical look, he shrugged. "It's a long story."

"I can imagine. And _did_ you see her to safety?"

Jack bridled a little. "Aye, I did. She wasn't much more'n a child, James—sixteen! You think I'd have done something like that? Bloody hell, how long have you known me now?"

Norrington fought down a smile at his friend's indignation. "Sixteen, was she? And how old were you?"

"All of twenty-two, but I'd been First for two years! There was no one else to send—Will's papa twisted his ankle as we came ashore, an' the others weren't to be trusted with such as that. Barely ripebut she was betrothed to Don Alejandro Corozon, the same as was on that ship we'd plundered."

"Good God," said Norrington.

"Aye. But it's over twenty years. Likely she won't know me, eh?"

Harry and James stared at Jack's hopeful, _youthful_ face, and then looked at each other.

"Perhaps she will have forgotten him," said Norrington.

Harry just shook her head.

o-o-o

After forcing Tom to endure pointed homilies (_You set foot off this ship an' there'll be the devil to pay, Imp!_ and _Tom, darling, you must be very good and mind Mr. Gibbs while we are gone!_) as well as fierce hugs from both his parents, the Jamaican diplomatic party bid the _Pearl's_ crew farewell and climbed into the carriages that had been provided for their use.

Owens, Charles, Alphonse and Amelie were in the first carriage, and Jack, Harry, and Norrington followed in another. After further discussion of the issue, the latter three convinced themselves (or at least strongly hoped) that Jack's disguise was deep enough, and the intervening years long enough, to preclude recognition by their prospective host and hostess. Thereafter firmly suppressing any nagging doubts, they began to enjoy their journey through the city. Santiago was large, surprisingly clean, and very colorful. They passed many beautiful public buildings, all white stucco trimmed with tile and hung with bright banners; green parks with splashing fountains and happy children playing (_Oh, how Tom would love that!_); and a large open-air market surrounded by several streets of intriguing shops that made Harry's eyes light up.

"Perhaps Juana will like to accompany me on a shopping expedition!"

"On a first name basis already?" asked Jack.

Harry raised a brow. "Well, you did tell me we have a great deal in common."

"Aye, you doif memory serves, and time has been as kind to her as it has to you."

She had to kiss him.

They passed the great cathedral at the center of the town, and were surprised and a little disturbed to see long lines of people waiting to enter to see the stolen chalice.

"I'll send Owens and Charles to look over the situation of it as soon as we're settled in," Jack said. "Much as I'd like to do a mischief to that villain, Esparza, it'll be as well if we can lift the cup without anyone bein' the wiser."

"You feel your friend can fashion a copy in a timely manner?" Norrington asked.

"If he's alive. He was well past forty when I saw him last. Haven't had much chance to come to Santiago in a good many years."

Norrington nodded. "We'll hope he's still extant. It would be infinitely preferable to forgo the need for a hasty departure, particularly in consideration of the fact that we are representatives of England at this summit."

Jack grinned. "We'll be quiet as church mice, you just watch, Admiral."

A short time later the carriages were drawing into the tree-shaded courtyard of the house of Don Alejandro Corozon, and, seeing the lord and lady of the house emerge with a few of their servants, Jack and Harry and James found their fears suddenly returning.

"Corozon looks just the same but for the gray hair," said Jack, eyeing the tall Spaniard with some dismay. The man was an impressive sight, full of years but unbowed, his aristocratic countenance saved from severity by sensitive lips that just now were twisted in a rather self-deprecating smile as he spoke to the slender, elegantly dressed woman beside him.

"And the lady?" asked James.

"That's her, sure enough. Older, but I'd know her anywhere."

"Oh, dear," said Harry. "I was clinging to the hope it would be _another_ Corozon family."

Jack laughed. "So was I! But it's not, so into the breach, eh?"

"Indeed!" agreed James.

o-o-o

The introductions had gone well. Jack had not hung back, or avoided eye contact with the Corozons, hiding instead behind the foppish persona he had assumed as part of his disguise, although he'd let Norrington do most of the talking.

"We are most grateful for your hospitality, Don Alejandro," Norrington said, after the introductions had been made. He bowed politely.

"I beg you will consider our home as your own while you are with us," Don Alejandro replied.

"If you will come with me," said Señora Corozon, "I will myself show you to your rooms."

Don Alejandro looked a little surprised at this, but nodded approval.

"It is most gracious of you, señora!" said Harry, curtseying, and giving what she hoped was an open smile. She had seen the sharp look Juana had given Jack when he'd kissed her hand with extravagant courtesy.

And sure enough, their fears were realized.

Harry and Jack were the last to be shown to their room, and as Harry exclaimed over the excellence of the appointments, Juana closed the door and stood staring at Jack. Harry stopped speaking and blinked, and her husband raised his brows, suddenly alert.

"_Sí_, it is a lovely room, is it not?" said Juana, "But… let us forgo these niceties in favor of plain speaking, for a moment." She turned a penetrating eye on Jack, and started to walk toward him. "I knew a man once, very like to you in certain ways. Very like. Long years ago, it was, but I have not forgotten. His name, Señor Byrd, was _Juan __Gorrión_."

"_Juan __Gorrión_?" Jack's voice sounded puzzled, and he was silent for so long a moment that Juana stopped and began to frown, uncertainly. But then Jack spoke, and the words were in her own tongue. "It is many years, indeed, since I heard that name on your lips, _Querida_."

Juana's breath was seen to catch, and her eyes widened. She came toward him again, amazed, and unconsciously held out her hands, which he caught in his, with a smile. "_Malvado_! It _is_ you!"

He laughed at the fond epithet. "_Sí, Señora Juana Alba y Corozon. _You are looking well. Your life with Don Alejandro is a good one."

She laughed herself at that. "Ah, how I remember! Oh, _sí, mi amigo_, it has been good, so very good!" She shook her head. "There is too much to tell. But… you! How you have changed!" She released his hands, and looked him up and down. "You do not look like the pirate that sometimes haunts my dreams." She looked over at Harry, who was standing a few feet away, a bemused look on her face. "And your wife! Forgive me, lady. Your husband did me a great kindness one night, long ago."

"I know it," said Harry. "He told me of it. When we were first together, he said I reminded him of you. I can now see that he paid me a great compliment."

"And I, indeed! You are a great beauty, in the style of the English, though not so pale I think."

Harry chuckled. "My dresser would agree with you: she is ever bemoaning my dislike of hats."

Juana nodded. "We are at their mercy, are we not? But not so much as this one!" She looked Jack up and down again, and her dark eyes narrowed. "A disguise, no? And if so, then I must ask you what you are doing in Santiago. For I'll wager it is not only to attend this summit of Esparza's."

Jack arched an inquiring brow at her tone. "You are not fond of the Viceroy?"

Juana made a dismissive gesture. "Esparza calls for this summit, but he does not want peace, not really. My Alejandro has worked for years to maintain communication between the Spanish and the English, but between the viceroy and his associates, my husband's work is for naught. _They_ are the true _malvados_—they work to plan a war that will bring many deaths, on both sides."

"It grieves me to hear it, Señora Corozon," said Jack. "And I thank you for your frankness in telling us this."

"You would learn it soon enough in any case. But do not call me Señora Corozon! You, of all people, should call me Juana—or _Querida_! How I longed to hear you say it again!"

"But does not Don Alejandro call you this?"

"Oh, no!" Juana said, her eyes twinkling. "He calls me _mi esposa_, which is even more delightful. Or sometimes, _mi amor_. But never _Querida_—not since the night I told him about you."

Jack's brows twitched together. "Is that so?"

"But you must not worry!" Juana assured him. "He was most grateful you had taken care of me. And he did not mind the kiss."

"Ah. You told him about that, as well." Jack looked somewhat dismayed, and Harry suppressed an urge to laugh.

Juana grinned. "Oh, yes. For he suspected that his own was not my first, which seemed strange to him, due to my youth. So I told him everything."

Harry gave in to her laughter.

"It's not funny!" Jack protested. "Good God, what a piece of ill luck!"

Juana chuckled, but said, "No, no! You will see! He remembered you, when I told him—from the time you stopped his ship—and he will not have forgotten now, though he has not seen through your disguise, it seems."

"I don't know," Jack growled. "You seem to have seen through it easily enough."

Juana gave him a fond and playfully suggestive smile. "Ah, but that is a different matter entirely, _mi pirata_! Now, let me call for refreshments, and we will all three sit down and you will tell me of your true purpose. I realized long years ago that I am greatly in your debt for your aid and your restraint that night, so long ago. I promise I will do what I can to help you now."


	9. Getting To Know You

**Chapter Nine: _Getting To Know You_**

"Alejandro, mi amor!"

Juana Corozón slipped into the cool dim of the library, and closed the door. 

This room was her husband's beloved and very personal refuge, redolent of the many books that lined the walls, of ink, quill, and expensive paper, and only sparsely decorated with a few fine paintings and various mementos of foreign lands. Outsiders were rarely allowed here, and Juana had trained her maids to dust and clean most carefully: nothing must be moved from its place, if at all possible. She, herself, was welcome at any time, of course: Alejandro had made that clear from the beginning of their marriage. In fact, she fondly recalled one evening, when they were newly wed, when she had been lonely, and had come here in search of him. The big, carved desk, impetuously swept clear of books and paper, had not made the most comfortable of surfaces on which to make love, but after that night neither of the two could look on it and suppress a smile. Juana's Alejandro had hidden fires, a fact which might have surprised those of his colleagues that thought him only a fusty old scholar.

Now he looked up from his writing and watched with obvious pleasure as she crossed the room to him, her steps muffled by the thick carpet. _Ah, how handsome he is!_ she thought, as she always did.

"_Mi esposa_!" he said, his voice soft and low, and edged with laughter. "I see you are big with news."

He turned his chair a little as she came around the desk, and she pouted even as she sat on his knee, rejoicing in the feel of his hands at her waist. "Am I so transparent, then?" she complained. She set her own slim hands on either side of his face and tenderly kissed his lips.

He gave a low hum of approval at this, but when she released him he said, "You are certainly transparent to me, my sweet. Tell me then: did you discover something interesting about our guests?"

Juana dimpled, and her eyes flashed merriment. "You might say so, my love."

He raised his brows. "You alarm me!"

She said, more seriously, "Alejandro… you must not act hastily. There are exciting and dreadful things afoot! Promise you will listen to the whole tale before you say or do anything."

He frowned, but said, "Very well. Tell me then. I will listen."

And he did, though he was hard-pressed not to interrupt her narrative at several points. Once or twice he started to exclaim, but she put an imperative hand to his lips and looked severe until he subsided, and she could go on. And finally, when the tale of Lord and Lady Byrd, Father Taddeo Angelini, Don Rodrigo de Esparza and the Chalice of St. Francis had been fully told, Juana's husband saw the wisdom of her insisting on his silence. She told him, "Now you may speak, _mi esposo_, but I beg you will consider well before you act." She looked at him, somewhat uncertainly.

Don Alejandro frowned. "Juana! These are serious matters. Do you think I would be so foolish as to act too precipitately?"

"I do not know. He _did_ steal your books."

"Ah, yes. My Plutarch , among others. He has much to answer for there, certainly."

"And he kissed me, too, if you will remember."

"You assured me it was nothing!"

"Oh, sí! But I thought perhaps you would still be jealous." She achieved a saddened air.

"Juana, you are incorrigible," he said, and drew her against him, and kissed her himself.

Her laughter was effectively subdued, and when he ended it she sighed with pleasure, and reclined against his shoulder. "Ah, my husband! How I adore you."

"And I you, my sweet."

"And you will help _Juan Gorrión_ and his wife and friends?"

Alejandro's smile faded. "So, the rumors about the acquisition of the cup were true. I knew Esparza was a villain, but to harm a man of God! It is a terrible evil. No good can come of it for our city. Yes, Juana, if what they have told you is true… if _Juan Gorrión_—Jack Sparrow—is still what he was in his youth, then yes, I will do what I can to help him in this venture."

"Oh, but he is not, Alejandro! He is not the same at all!" She smiled at his raised brows. "He is grown. He was little more than a boy then. Now he is a man, and a good one, a leader of men. But, in truth, _mi amor_, you cannot fail to perceive it when you speak with him. He is grown."

o-o-o

"Good God! What do you mean you told her? Are you out of your senses?"

Jack sighed. "She _knew_ me, James. And she and Corozón are no friends of Esparza's."

"So she claims!"

"Well, do you wonder at it?" Jack said a bit testily. "You know the man's reputation. Esparza's a damned fire-eatin' dog! Been spoiling for a fight with the English for years. He and Corozón have worked toward entirely different ends and, from what Juana says, Esparza and his cronies appear to have gained the upper hand. Corozón's lookin' at years of work, wasted. I'll lay he'll help us, both with diplomacy _and_ recovery of the cup."

James still frowned. "I must say, your propensity for encountering past victims of your nefarious adventures makes you a most uncomfortable co-conspirator."

Jack chuckled. "I find it a bit disconcerting meself, on occasion. Still, in this case, I've an idea it'll work to our advantage."

"I can only trust you are correct in your assessment of the situation," James said, quite as though he trusted no such thing.

Harry approached, radiating amusement and sympathy, and offered James a glass, half-filled with ruby liquid. "Have some wine, James."

"Thank you." The Admiral took the glass and tossed off its contents. "Is there more?"

Jack gave a bark of laughter, and Harry grinned and took the glass to refill it.

o-o-o

For all his outward insouciance, Jack was inwardly somewhat uneasy about Don Alejandro's possible reaction to Juana's revelations. He spent the hour before dinner contemplating how he'd get them all back to the ship and safely away should the worst transpire, and Alphonse, thus given free reign, had fussed and primped contentedly, Jack barely aware of the man's ministrations.

A mixed blessing.

Harry, when she again laid eyes on him, exclaimed in delighted admiration, and then proceeded to whisper some extremely suggestive promises into his ear. This was, of course, gratifying, and boded well for the wee hours (unless they were forced to make a run for it—a possibility he would have found more exhilarating if his darling wife had been safe at home instead of gleefully sharing the adventure). Norrington, however, had raised a brow as he looked him over, lips quivering, and Owens and Charles had both stared outright, quite forgetting themselves. _Beautiful!_, Jack thought. _Bloody_ _Christmas beef_. Nerves on end but, nevertheless, on his mettle, Jack lifted his chin and adopted his most convincing air of unconcern as he minced toward the drawing room, where the company was to gather before dinner.

In the event, his apprehension was for naught.

After they'd been formally announced, and greeted, Corozón turned to Jack, looking him up and down with carefully restrained amusement. The servants were still hovering about, readying savory tidbits, and more chilled red wine, enlivened with fruit juices and some precious ice, so he addressed his interesting guest accordingly. "My Lord Byrd! How well you look! Each coat more stunning than the last! The mind boggles."

Jack glanced down and finally noticed that Alphonse had dressed him in that puce coat he hated, the one cut in the most extreme of the latest modes (or late for the Caribbean, at least). He subdued the urge to look sardonic and, instead, gave his host a graceful bow, acknowledging the compliment, backhanded though it was. Corozón, Jack noticed, looked every bit the elegant statesman and scholar, the dark refinement of his suit relieved only by the snowy lace at his wrists and throat. Much tidier than of yore: Juana must have the dressing of him, Jack thought. The lady, herself, looked much too young and lovely in a gown of turquoise blue, a necklace of the stones set in silver filigree adorning her slim neck. A lucky man, Don Alejandro!

"Welcome, señor, señora!" the lady said, and smiled some secret communication to Harry, whose toilette of pale gold satin, topaz, and diamonds, formed a delightful contrast to their hostess's attire.

Harry curtsied with studied grace, and said, as she rose, "Such a pleasant house, Señora Corozón. I vow, we are most comfortable in the rooms you have given us. But I wished to speak with you regarding some of your fair city's amenities: specifically the fascinating markets and shops I noticed as we came up the road to your home. I've a great fancy to visit some of them on the morrow."

"Oh, sí!" exclaimed Juana. "But let us retire to the sofa, you and I: these men are not at all interested in such things, and can very well entertain themselves in the short interval before dinner is served." She flashed her husband a speaking look, and Jack an encouraging smile, then took Harry by the hand and led her away to where a sofa stood by the window, through which a red sunset could now be seen.

The men looked after them for a moment, then Jack turned back to Corozón. "A pretty pair, ain't they?"

Corozón, noting that his servants were retiring, the last of them closing the double doors to the room, slid his gaze to his flamboyant guest. "They are, certainly. I find it in me to wonder what possessed you to bring such a treasure on this dangerous errand of yours."

There was accusation in his tone, and Jack was first taken aback, and then highly annoyed. Setting his teeth, he said nothing, but turned to Norrington and lifted a brow.

The admiral maintained his calm demeanor. "The main object of our visit is, of course, diplomacy. I had no doubt the lady would conduct herself with appropriate decorum. She will not be involved in our other business to any great extent."

"Sí. Your _other_ business. My wife has informed me that the rumors surrounding Esparza's acquisition are all too true. This priest: blinded, as well as crippled?"

"And _marooned_!" Jack growled, the idea of it still hitting too close to home. "Not even a single shot to speed his way, poor devil."

"Ah. That single shot. A custom of your cohorts, I understand. But a priest would not have taken that road."

Jack nodded. "Don't think I would've done, either, though fortunately it was never that desperate a case with me when I was in similar straits. But it's hard to say what a man will do, when worse comes to worst."

Don Alejandro's brows rose. "You were marooned yourself? How was this?"

And suddenly Jack saw his way clear. Reining in his sudden relief, he scowled and said, "A few years after we met, it was. Barbossa. Led a mutiny against me, for I became captain of the _Pearl_ after Tobias passed, not a year after we took the _Santa Inez_."

Don Alejandro frowned. "Barbossa? Do you mean…"

"Tobias's second. You remember him?"

"I do." The Spaniard looked as though he'd just smelled some stench.

"Aye," said Jack. "He was the one as was all for chucking your crates of books in the drink. Didn't think you'd forget him easy. But more than that: he was the blackguard who nearly had Juana a few months later."

Don Alejandro stared at Jack for a long moment, then glanced at Norrington, who nodded wryly. "Madre de Dios!" he said, at last. "Then I am greatly in your debt, it seems. More than I can easily repay."

Jack restrained the smirk that hovered on his lips. He said, with credible deprecation, "But no, Don Alejandro! You'll recall I had those books of you…"

"My Plutarch, among others," the Don agreed, his voice resentful, but his eyes laughing.

"Aye. Barbossa left that one, as it happens, though the others have gone missing. It's still in my cabin aboard the _Pearl_." He nodded in the direction of the harbor.

"The _Black Pearl_! You did get your ship back then?"

"I did. Unlike Father Taddeo, I was given that one shot. Ten years I saved it for Barbossa, 'til the opportune moment came to hand."

"Ten years." Don Alejandro shook his head. "You are a patient man, señor."

"Good things come to those who wait, Don Alejandro."

"You killed him?"

"I did."

Don Alejandro smiled, and it was not the smile of a scholar. "Then I again forgive you the books, as well as the kiss you took of my Juana after you saved her from that villain—I can certainly sympathize with _that_ temptation, after all. And Esparza!" The Don spat the name. "There has never been love between us, as Juana has told you. But this tale of Father Taddeo and the Chalice proves that he is the veriest dog. Yes, 'Lord Byrd': be assured, I will do what is in my power to help you with your…_other business_."

o-o-o

Jack awoke surprisingly late the next morning, considering the several birds that were setting up a racket just outside the window, and the lack of motion in this landbound boudoir. There was some excuse: he'd been up bloody late last night. Or bloody early, depending on how one looked at it.

Dinner had been superb, spicy and varied, although conversation at table had been less so, forced into conventional boundaries due to the presence of the servants. Afterwards, the ladies, pleading fatigue, had taken themselves off to change into more comfortable clothing and then had indulged in sweet wine, cakes, and _ondits_ for several hours—Jack had caught them at it, hearing their laughter as he'd walked down the hall to the rooms he and Harry had been allotted.

Eschewing a knock, he entered abruptly, startling them to silence, and demanded to know what was so funny. However this produced such gales of renewed laughter that he growled, "No, don't tell me—I expect it's better I don't know," and, feigning disgust, went to fetch his sword from the bedroom, for the Don had expressed an interest in examining the Turner-made weapon.

Harry had followed him in, and pulled him 'round, and kissed him fiercely. Then she said in a low voice, still edged with laughter, "We _were_ speaking of you, but 'twas nothing ill. Truly!"

"Naughty chit," he'd murmured against her lips, hugging her hard. "I shall have my revenge, as I told you this morning." And he returned the kiss, just as fierce, and pinched her sweet backside 'til she squeaked, giggling, and struggled away.

"That's not a nice sort of revenge!" she complained, pouting and rubbing the afflicted area.

"You'll have to wait 'til later for the 'nice' sort," he grinned, picking up the sword.

"So say you!" she'd said, provocatively. "I daresay you shall come to me half dead of conversation and brandy and merely fall, snoring, into bed."

She'd spoken loud enough for their hostess to hear as they returned to the outer chamber, and Juana had chuckled, delightedly.

But instead of objecting to this slander, Jack had heaved an elaborate sigh as he walked toward the door. "I daresay you're right. No 'revenge' for you tonight, Mrs. Sparrow. Sweet dreams!" He grinned at Harry's cry of outrage, and Juana had laughed and clapped her hands.

Of course he'd not carried out this threat.

She'd been asleep when he'd come in at last. He'd told Alphonse not to wait up, and stripped off the fancy clothes himself, laying the things on the chair for the valet to tend in the morning. The air, scented with night-blooming flowers, felt cool on his bare skin, and he crawled thankfully into the big bed. The sheets were as luxuriously soft as those they kept on the _Pearl_, and the warmth of his wife's slender form drew him like a magnet.

Half-waking, she'd turned to him, gathering him in.

"I've come for my revenge," he said against her ear, and smiled at her sleepy reply: "Mmmm…lovely."

They took it slow at first, she drowsy, he muzzy with good brandy, until, after a while, there came a point when they realized they were both very much awake, indeed. His name, interspersed with the kind deity's, began to sound like a prayer on her lips, and in truth, he'd have to have been more than man to deny such reverent supplication. However, he continued as he had begun, deliberately and determinedly settling the score in a manner that was, ultimately, of great and entirely mutual satisfaction.

Afterwards, they lay, still entwined, forehead-to-forehead, hearts slowing.

"Who's half dead now, eh?" he said, his voice soft.

She gave a weak laugh, then kissed him, sloppily, so that he laughed too.

She said, fondly, "You taste of brandy."

"Mmm. I had enough of it. Good stuff that."

"You were in the library? Juana says he rarely invites visitors there!"

"You should see it, Harry," Jack breathed. "Whole walls of books! He must've been collecting 'em for years and years. Your brother's is nothin' to it."

"Perhaps we shall be able to collect books on our Voyage of Trade and Exploration, and bring them back to St. Claire."

"Perhaps."

He knew his tone had betrayed uncertainty, and sure enough, he felt her hesitation before she said, "You do want me to come?"

"Of course."

"But?"

"Bloody hell, Harry," he muttered. "It's a risky business, sailin' 'round the world. Or even halfway 'round."

For a second she seemed startled. Then her hands tightened, grabbing at him. "Do you remember that Christmas, when you did not return when you'd said you would? When you were a month, a whole month, late!"

He sighed. "I remember."

"If it had not been that Tom was yet a baby…"

Her voice trailed off into a slight choking sound, and he felt her shudder, and tried to pull her closer, but she would have none.

She said, quite adamantly, "I want to be with you. No matter what happens."

He looked at the pale oval of her face, barely visible in the faint light. Reached up and brushed the silken hair back behind her ear. "The _Pearl_ will take care of us," he said, at last.

"Yes," she agreed.

He pulled her against him, and they lay, cheek to cheek, faces buried in each other's hair, just breathing for while.

Finally he said, "We'd best get some sleep. Don Alejandro's offered to arrange a private viewing of the Chalice for us. We're to go at noon, or thereabouts. After that we'll have a better idea where we're at, and can start arranging things."

They had settled themselves and had soon fallen deeply asleep, and, as ever, Harry's warmth and weight against his side were a comfort and a delight.

Elements that were notably absent this morning.

He felt around the bed, to confirm the loss, and his eyes blinked open. _Where the devil was she?_

He got up, groaning a bit at the head the brandy had given him, and scowling at the rackety birds. Alphonse, however, was on the alert, appearing at Jack's summons, armed with a restorative draught, and soothing ways.

"Madame said you would need careful handling this morning."

Jack growled a little at this phrasing, and demanded, "Where's she gone off to?"

"She and Señora Corozón are gone to visit the market, and a few of the shops in the town. But you must not worry: young Owens and the admiral's son have accompanied them. The admiral and Don Alejandro await you in the garden, where breakfast is to be served."

In spite of a tendency to brood over his throbbing head and Harry's absence, Alphonse soon had Jack clean and dressed once more in gentlemanly garb. 'Lord Byrd' made his way out to the sunny garden, and was rather annoyed to find that his comrades' health and spirits had not been similarly impaired.

"Jack!" said James, "You look quite devilish."

"And good morning to you, too," Jack said sourly, but then turned to Don Alejandro with a crooked smile. "Glad to see you're looking well. Brandy's not my usual drink—sometimes takes me this way."

Don Alejandro chuckled. "Sit down, then, Lord Byrd. You will be better for some breakfast!"

The Don was quite right, and Jack had begun to feel somewhat better by the time they were nearly through and the four absentees suddenly reappeared. Jack and his companions smiled at the picture Harry and Juana made, coming across the lawn in their morning gowns. _Like a couple of wind-blown roses_, Jack thought. But what was that Harry was carrying?

"Look what we did!" she exclaimed as she drew closer. She displayed her burden triumphantly: a heavy book.

"The Plutarch!" Jack exclaimed. "You've been out to the ship?"

"Sí!" said Juana. "It was I who insisted: I wanted so much to see it. It is beautiful! _Beautiful_! And your little son…how you are fortunate!"

Jack couldn't help grinning. "How was he? Behaving himself, I hope?"

"He's been good as gold, Gibbs says," Harry smiled, "except for attempting to climb the ratlines once, and breaking the second best teapot."

Jack groaned. "He's too small yet to go aloft. I warned him about that."

"Yes. But not to worry: Gibbs seems to have told him some strange tale of some midshipmen, with whom he served in the navy, who misbehaved and were made to kiss the gunner's daughter as a penalty. It seems odd that the girl should have been on the ship with them, and she certainly must have been a dreadful creature for such a measure to have had the desired effect. Actually, I don't know how it pertains to Tom's case: the only one of the _Pearl's_ men who has a daughter is O'Brien, and she and Tom get on famously! But Tom seems to have taken the story as a warning, and has been very good all day. Except for the teapot. But that was an accident." She stayed her rambling for a moment at Jack's odd expression, and then demanded, "What?"

Jack had kept his laughter checked at this ingenuous speech solely by avoiding eye contact with the boys, and with Norrington, who now choked slightly and broke into a fit of coughing. Harry's brows twitched together, making her look adorably confused and suspicious. Jack, realizing (not for the first time) that there were certain gaps in his beloved's education, particularly in her knowledge of naval life, cleared his throat, and said, "Never mind. I'll tell you later. Are you going to give the Don his book, then?"

Harry reluctantly (but wisely) let the matter go, and turned to Don Alejandro. "Here you are, sir, with our compliments!" She smiled as she handed over the tome.

"I thank you, Señora," said Don Alejandro, accepting it. He turned to Jack. "You were quite through with it?"

Jack did laugh at that. "Well, no. Can one ever be quite through enjoying Plutarch? Still, I expect I'll be able to procure another copy before too long."

"I do not doubt it," said Don Alejandro. He turned to Juana. "Well, my wife, I daresay you will now be pining for another little one. 'Lord Byrd' was telling us of his son's excellence and exploits only last night."

Juana smiled. "Oh, no. He is wonderful, surely, but two were enough, I think. I now await the pleasure of Grandchildren--as I know you do, as well."

"I salute your wisdom, my love. But—" the Don turned to Jack and Harry—"if the opportunity arises, I would very much like to meet the young Sparrow. And now, my friends, shall we prepare to depart for the cathedral? For Esparza has sent a reply to my request: he will meet us there at noon, and will himself show us the famous and holy Chalice."

o-o-o

Michael Owens sat in the corner of the big carriage as it made its way down through the city to the cathedral, quietly observing the conversation of his fellow passengers. Lady Harry and Señora Juana were getting on like a house afire, to the fond bemusement of their respective husbands. 'Twas no wonder, of course: quite a pair the ladies made, both of them beautiful, with cunning ways, and a liveliness that was rather unsettling at times. As much as Owens loved his mistress, the thought of marriage to such a one did not appeal: give him his sweet, gentle Suzanna, and he'd ask nothing more of life.

Earlier, it had pleased Lady Harry no end that her new friend had expressed such enthusiasm when she'd suggested that, rather than spending all the morning amongst the stores and stalls of the market, they should "commandeer a boat" and have their "swains" row them out to the _Black Pearl_, to fetch the Plutarch as a surprise for the Don, and, incidentally, to check on "darling Tom". The señora had fairly jumped at this, apparently being most anxious to meet the young imp, of whom she'd heard much the previous night, and to actually set foot upon the _Black Pearl_.

The ship, even disguised as it was, inspired awe and delight in the señora as they'd made their approach, and, true to form, Tom had not disappointed either. The boy caught sight of their gig when they were still out on the bright water of the bay, quite a distance from the ship, and, after waving and calling eagerly, he could be heard running about, warning the _Pearl's_ crew that there were visitors coming and they'd "best look sharp", the inflections of his voice so like his father's that Owens and Charles had exchanged a grin, and Lady Harry had laughed outright.

After they'd tied up, Tom leaned over the side and yelled encouragement to his mother as she stoically ascended the Jacob's ladder, rewarding her by acquiescing to a hug and kiss when she'd gained the deck. He'd then launched into a detailed history of his activities in the hours they'd been apart, relating the bad along with the good by way of enlivening the tale. Lady Harry had interrupted, in order to introduce Señora Juana to everyone, but the señora, after expressing her pleasure in meeting Jack's crew, forever endeared herself to Tom by first exclaiming delightedly of the boy's likeness to his father, and then encouraging him to continue with his enthralling narrative.

Nothing loth, he'd chattered on as they walked about the ship, interspersing personal anecdotes with a detailed and startlingly knowledgeable tour of his birthplace.

Tom had left the ladies to converse in the Great Cabin at the end of the "tour", and joined Owens and Charles at breakfast. It was some time before Lady Harry and Señora Juana had emerged, and when they did, the increased understanding and accord between them was obvious.

They had left for shore again, shortly thereafter. Gibbs and Tom had seen them off.

"I thank you for your greeting, Señor Gibbs," the señora said, prettily, shaking the First's hand. "How you are fortunate, to sail on such a ship, under such a captain!"

"I am, that," agreed Gibbs. "A pleasure meetin' you, Señora Corozón."

Lady Harry said, "Thank you, Gibbs, for taking such good care of Tom!"

Gibbs chuckled. "No worries there, ma'am. After I fetched 'im off the ratlines yesterday I sat 'im down and told 'im about some o' them troublesome mids I knew in the navy, havin' to kiss the gunner's daughter, an' all. He 'savvied' what was what pretty quick, I reckon. Smart lad, your Tom."

"Ah!" nodded Lady Harry, a bit nonplussed, but taking note of Tom's scowl. "Well, I am very glad he took the warning to heart—his father would be most displeased if he were to be a burden to the crew. As he knows."

Tom gave a Sparrowish roll of his eyes, flushing, and muttered, "I'll be good, Mama."

She bent swiftly, saying, "I know you will, Tom." She hugged him, and said something very quietly into his ear, at which he hugged her back, quick and hard.

As Lady Harry stood up again, Señora Juana held out her hand to Tom. "It was a great pleasure to meet you, Tom Sparrow."

Tom grinned crookedly and took her hand. "The pleasure was mine, señora," he said, and the smooth civility of this, following so close on his chagrin over the admonition, made everyone chuckle.

"Just like his father!" Lady Harry reiterated, with evident pride.

Now, in the carriage, Juana was holding forth on the excellence of her own offspring. She said to Jack, "As I told your wife last night, our young one, Antonio, is in Spain, at university. He is a scholar, like his father, but is inclined toward the priesthood, I think. He is very devout, in spite of his worldly upbringing, for you must know we took the children with us when Alejandro was assigned abroad as an ambassador. Antonio will go far, I think, if he chooses that road. Giving a son to God must be considered a privilege, though I know I will regret the Grandchildren he might have given me. He is such a good and handsome boy! But my Isabel, she will provide. She married well, and only last year, but she is already expecting her first child. In two months we go to Havana, for I told Alejandro I must be there when she is confined. She shall not suffer the lack of her mother's comfort as I did, God willing. Though I knew, of course, that I would survive, for had you not told me so?" She dimpled at Jack.

The Don looked amused, but Jack, noting Norrington's raised brow, said, "'Twas that night I walked her home. Before they were wed."

"It must have been a most wide-ranging conversation," Norrington remarked.

"Aye, well, so it was. Had to walk for miles. Took a bit of time. We was bound to hit on a number of subjects."

"Oh, sí," said Juana, "And it was not only your words that gave me courage. I could not leave my Alejandro alone, for I knew by then he would be lost without me."

Don Alejandro chuckled. He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. "It is only too true, my love. How wise you were to perceive it."

They were coming in to the heart of the city, now, and pulling around a corner, came in sight of the cathedral.

"The oldest in Cuba," said Don Alejandro. "Nearly two hundred years it has stood, and it is a work of art, inside and out. But you will see presently. Ah! It looks as though the crowds are dispersed for the siesta hours, and Don Esparza awaits us on the steps."

It was indeed so. The Viceroy of Santiago, Don Rodrigo de Esparza, stood, feet planted apart, hands clasped behind his back, and though he was surrounded by several taller minions the stocky man dominated the scene. As they drew closer, pulling up to the steps, he was seen to be very fit, and harshly handsome, with a smile that quite failed to reach his cold, calculating eyes.

Lady Harry's hand slipped into her husband's for a moment, though she was outwardly calm.

"Welcome, my friends!" Esparza's smile broadened whitely as he came down the steps to them. "Don Alejandro, your lovely wife, and your many guests! Come! Come into the cool of our city's cathedral and see the Chalice of St. Francis." 

o-o-o


	10. Lady of Spain

**Chapter Nine: _Lady of Spain_**

"That's it? _That's_ the Chalice of St. Francis?"

Beside Jack, Norrington quietly cleared his throat.

Esparza, however, gave a bark of laughter. "You are surprised, Señor Byrd?"

Jack collected himself. "Ah…yes. A little. I was expecting something rather less…_wooden_."

The Bishop of Santiago, who had accompanied the party, gave a little bow, acknowledging the justice of this observation. He said, "Saint Francis was a great man, but humble, and of a purity and simplicity that must inspire us all. Is it not right that his 'chalice' should be but a plain wooden dish, utilitarian, and carved from the unaltered materials of nature?"

Don Alejandro, lips quivering against laughter at Jack's struggle to hide his disappointment, said, "You are very right, Your Excellency: entirely appropriate. It is only that it seems strange that, with all the talk of the cup, we heard no rumor of this being the case." He waved bemused fingers at the objects in Don Esparza's hands: the ancient and rather worn wooden cup in the one; in the other, the gold, jewel-encrusted container that had been fashioned to cloak and protect the cup of the saint.

Esparza grinned whitely, and shrugged. "You see that I confide in you, as equals, devout and of a superior understanding. The common herd would not be so willing to travel miles to see a little wooden dish, I think. They expect gold and jewels, so that is what we have given them, in fashioning this cunning holder. Like the saint himself, enthroned in Heaven, his chalice, such as it is, has been given a home of great beauty and honor."

The Viceroy placed the wooden cup back in its ornate nest, before handing it off to an armed guard, one of two who had the watch during the noon hour. The pair carried the cup back to its niche near the altar where they reverently set it in place before turning and taking up their posts to either side of it, swords loose in their scabbards.

"It is heavily guarded!" Juana observed. "Have you had some trouble?"

"No, _Doña_," said Esparza. "But villains wear such clever disguises. One cannot be too careful, do you not agree?"

"Oh, sí!" agreed Juana, her voice light and bland, even if her heart gave an odd lurch.

Esparza went on, "These guards are soldiers of the company at _El Morro_. At night the cup is placed in a locked case of gold, which is kept in the sepulcher beneath the altar, entirely safe from the elements, and from human contact, for there is no way in or out save the one entrance that you see there." The Viceroy nodded, indicating a door set into the wall at the side of the sanctuary, very solid-looking, and adorned with iron strapping and a substantial lock.

"It appears that you take all due precautions with the treasure," Norrington observed.

"Sí. And there is, of course, a guard that watches the cathedral at night, as has always been the case. The cup is quite safe."

Don Alejandro said, "You are kind to have arranged for us this private viewing of the relic. I thank you, Don Esparza, and you, Bishop Vasquez, for allowing it."

The Bishop bowed, but Esparza merely inclined his head, looking complaisant. "It has been my pleasure. But you will forgive me: duty calls, and I must away. I will leave you all to bask in the art and spiritual light of the cathedral, which is now so much enhanced by the great saint's holiness." The Viceroy took his leave, the Bishop and the burly minions falling into step behind as they left the building.

When they were out of earshot, Jack growled, "I find it odd that Father Taddeo said nothing about a _wooden_ cup!"

Norrington said in an amused tone, "But why does this surprise you? Would you have come after it as readily if you had known?"

Jack considered this, growing more chagrined and annoyed by the moment. "You think he bloody tricked me? The devious old rascal!"

"But Jack!" Harry objected. "He is so saintly! And yet he did say he'd been about the world a little, before he joined the order."

"Yes," James smirked. "And even good men are sometimes 'devious rascals'."

The entire company looked at Jack, who threw up his hands. "All right, enough o' that. _Bloody_—" He broke off, restraining himself in consideration of the company and location. "Excuse me. But it's the outside of enough, so it is."

"But you wouldn't have kept the cup, in any case," Harry pointed out.

"No, but think of the tale it would've made! But to go through all this, just for a bit of a wooden dish same as you could buy anywhere? Makes me look a right fool!"

"No, no! Just very good-hearted, and a bit quixotic, perhaps."

"Exactly!" Jack retorted.

Juana set her hand on his arm. "Do not repine, mi amigo. We might never have met again, if not for this 'quixotic' quest. Much good has already come of it, and more will proceed in due course, even if the telling is different than you had imagined."

Jack considered this, looking about at his friends and loved ones, and finally gave a rueful laugh. "You're right. Don't know why it's thrown me so. God knows I've been in far worse straits, and had less flattering tales told about me, too. Let's split up and look about us for a bit, then. Perhaps Esparza's wrong in thinking the cup's safe from 'villains', eh?"

o-o-o

The company wandered about the interior of the cathedral, ostensibly absorbed in the wonders of architecture and artwork, and all the while surreptitiously examining the building's safeguards for flaws. Juana soon drew Harry away from the others, to show her some favorite paintings and statues in the several side chapels, while Jack and James quietly questioned Don Alejandro on what he knew of the design of the sanctuary, and discussed the apparent impregnability of the door to the sepulcher.

Michael Owens and Charles drifted off, setting for themselves the task of closely examining the shadowed recesses of the north transept. This was seen to serve as a Lady Chapel: overlooking the rows of wooden pews was an enormous painting of the Virgin Mary, flanked by racks of burning candles, and fronted by a dais that was nearly covered with a welter of cut flowers, gifts both elaborate and homely from the multitude of faithful that made the pilgrimage to this oldest and most revered church of Cuba.

After pausing to look more closely at the painting and the floral tributes, Owens and Charles walked slowly down the side aisle, examining the stained glass windows that were set into the walls, each of which depicted a different scene from the life of the Virgin. The second to the last, The Annunciation, featured a startled and very beautiful young Mary kneeling in awe before a white-robed Gabriel whose features and fair hair were, amusingly, quite like Charles's own.

"Now that's just wrong!" Owens remarked, soft laughter underlying the jibe.

Charles grinned, and started to retort when from a nearby pew came a sound he knew all too well: a half-stifled sob of feminine distress. He turned, surprised, as did Owens, for they had thought the church deserted but for their own party and the guards. But there, in the last pew at the back of the chapel, was a figure kneeling in ardent supplication, seemingly oblivious to their presence, for her forehead rested on the backs of her hands that gripped the pew in front of her.

As they watched, the sad little figure gave another snuffle, sat up, picked up a reticule that lay beside her, and proceeded to extract a large handkerchief, with which she wiped her eyes, and blew her nose in a businesslike manner.

To Owens's surprise, Charles moved down the aisle toward her, and then stopped in his tracks as she looked up. Owens, coming up behind his friend, saw that the lady was quite young, and very, very pretty in the manner of an aristocratic señorita-- all wide dark eyes in a pale, heart-shaped face-- and dressed entirely in black: fine lace mantilla, expensive frock, and (no doubt) dainty leather shoes. She was in mourning then.

However, the expression that lit her countenance at sight of Charles Norrington (for she had no eyes at all for Owens, himself), held only wonder, and a strange sort of joy. "_¿Señor…es usted un ángel?_" she breathed.

Owens was mostly able to subdue his chuff of laughter at this. _An angel, indeed!_ He glanced at his friend, to see if he'd understood the absurd remark, and then was startled to find it just barely possible the girl would say such a thing in all seriousness. Owens had never seen quite that wondrous an expression on Charles Norrington's handsome face before. Charles was exceptionally good looking (and knew it all too well), but never more so than when the mischievous or (lately) cynical smile left his lips to be replaced by a surprisingly mature gravity. It didn't happen often, God knew, but it had happened now, and was besides overlaid with a very sincere admiration as Charles took in the sight of the lady before them.

Sounding a bit dazed, Charles asked Owens, "What did she say?"

"She asked if you were an angel," Owens said, smirking just a little.

Charles gave a slight laugh. He said, haltingly, "_Senorita, no... o… solamente para usted. ¿Cómo puedo_… er… _ayudarse_?"

_'Only for you… how can I help?' Good lord, what're we getting into here?_ thought Owens, with some dismay. He started to raise an objection, but the little lady, her face alight with joy, cut him off, beginning to babble softly in Castilian. Owens had to use all his concentration to understand her and translate, for his friend could not unravel the tale—Charles spoke a little Spanish, but rarely understood much of what was said to him in that language, unless the speaker conversed very slowly and clearly.

Owens said, "She's sorry, she thought for a moment you were an angel as you look so much like the one in the window. She did not mean to disturb our contemplation of the beauties of the church, and she knows she should not be here during the noon hour, but she had nowhere else to turn for she knows no one in the city. She would that you were the angel you look to be, for then she would know that there was a God and that her prayers had not been in vain. But she is sorry and doesn't wish to burden you with her difficulties."

Charles's eyes widened at this, and he said to Owens, "Tell her it is no burden, and that I will do what I can to help her, if she will only have faith."

"Charles!" objected Owens.

"Tell her!" Charles insisted, with a strange vehemence.

Owens laughed uncertainly. "You must be mad. You know nothing about her!"

"Mad? Perhaps so. But tell her, Michael. Please?"

Owens frowned, but turned to the señorita and gave her Charles' message. He ended the message by saying, "My apologies, señorita. My friend has little Spanish. We are English, here for the summit at the Viceroy's estate."

She paled at that. "The Viceroy! Ah, he is a cruel man. You must be careful, my friends. I know him too, too well. And his son is… is my suitor." And she put her hand to her mouth, briefly, as though the thought was too dreadful to bear.

Charles was heard to murmur, "Ah, no!" at this and, before Owens could object, slid into the pew to sit close beside the little lady. Owens, sitting down in the pew in front of them, frowned severely as Charles took up the lady's hand in his.

Charles said, "¿_Como se llama, querida_?"

The lady blushed at the easy endearment, but replied steadily, "Lucia. Lucia Delma Fuensantos."

"Light of the Sea," translated Owens, and added, "That's a lovely name!"

Charles smiled. "Is that what it means? Lovely indeed."

It was obvious that Charles meant more than just Lucia's name, and understanding his tone, rather than his words, she blushed a deeper pink, though she did not look away. She spoke again, and Owens translated: "It is the language of my people that is lovely, señor. It is a pity you are not fluent."

"I would I had paid more heed to my tutors, if only in light of this moment. But tell us, how may we serve you?"

"Ah! If only you could." She hesitated, and then went on, "I lived in Spain, with my parents—so good, so loving they were! – but they… they died. Not a year ago! I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. They have been kind… to _me_, at least… but they brought me here, for the summit, and now have revealed that they wish to see me wed to the son of their friend, Don Esparza. But… but I cannot! He is very like to his father, who is a dreadful man. I have seen a little… and there have been rumors…"

Charles said (through Owens), "You must not marry into such a family, Señorita Fuensantos. We, too, have heard things—and more than simply rumors."

"Have you my friend? There are dreadful tales, and not least about the Chalice that draws so many to this place. It is said that… that Don Esparza was not given the cup, as he claims, but took it when he was in Italy two years ago. And worse… he has killed for it! A priest!"

After Owens translated this last, Charles hesitated only a moment before saying, "_Él no es muerto, Lucia._"

_He's not dead!_ "Charles!" Owens said sharply.

But Lucia frowned. "The priest? You have seen him?"

"Tell her!" Charles demanded.

"And give ourselves away?" Owens retorted, soft but with an edge of anger. "How do you know she can be trusted, Charles?"

Charles only gave Owens an impatient look and turned to Lucia, taking both her hands now. He said, in his stumbling Spanish, "My friend here was in the party that rescued him, from where Don Esparza had left him. It was pure chance—or God's grace – that led them there. The man was badly hurt, but he is mending, save for his eyes. He will not see again."

Lucia shuddered, and gripped Charles's hands. Owens translated her breathless reply: "It is true, then. Ah, God preserve us!" She gathered herself, straightening, though she let Charles retain hold of her hands. She looked up at him, solemnly. "But then… have you come to take vengeance for the priest?"

Charles said slowly, "We have come to take back the cup for him, señorita."

Lucia looked at first at Charles, and then to Owens for affirmation. Owens nodded reluctantly, then said, "Lady, I beg you: do not tell a soul. Success in this depends on secrecy."

"Oh, I will not. You may be assured of it. But señors: do you know how you will accomplish this?"

"No, lady," admitted Owens. "It may be an impossible task to accomplish with the stealth we had hoped for."

"I know a way!"

Charles and Owens glanced at each other, and then at Lucia again.

She went on, "There is a way into the sepulcher, difficult, but not impossible, I think. But I cannot show you now. See, the people are being allowed inside again!"

While she had spoken, the echoing sounds of the main doors opening had been heard, and quiet footsteps and a hum of hushed voices as the pilgrims began once more to enter the church.

Lucia said, "I must rejoin my aunt, soon, at the dressmakers shop. But there is a reception at the Viceroy's estate tonight."

"Our hosts, and some of our party are attending," Owens said.

"And my aunt and uncle, too. But you must not," Lucia said, decisively. "You will meet me here, but outside, at the east end of the building. There is a garden, and some trees. When the clock strikes ten, señors. Do not be late. Ah, I must go!"

Charles released her hands and stood as she did. "We will not fail, lady."

She smiled, for the first time, a flash of pearl white in the gloom. "I know you will not. God has sent you to me!"

o-o-o

Back in the carriage, Jack was, on the whole, skeptical about the chances of the boys' new friend knowing a secret entrance to the sepulcher. "Probably just excited about a clandestine meeting with a couple of handsome lads."

Charles frowned, and said rather sharply, "Begging your pardon, but she is not at all like that, sir."

Jack raised a brow. "Is she not? Well, we'll see, won't we? Won't hurt to find out what she knows, in any case. If there ain't a secret way in, it's like to be impossible to take the cup secretly."

James said, "I am reluctant to consider the application of force to complete the endeavor, but it may be that we will have no choice. The scheme will have to be planned with the greatest care, however, if it comes to that."

"It will," Jack said, tartly, "for I'm not putting Harry in harm's way, as I told you. P'rhaps it'll need to wait for another time. The _Pearl_ could slip into that bit of a cove I know, a few miles down the coast, and we could get the cup and be back before dawn, if there was no worry about makin' some noise in gettin' it."

James sighed. "I find that thought amazingly disturbing. Perhaps Miss Fuensantos will actually have the purported information."

"She seemed very sure of it, sir," said Charles.

Norrington frowned at his son. "Yes. So you have indicated. I hope your judgment of the lady's trustworthiness was not impaired by your admiration of her visible characteristics."

"Oh, no, sir, I assure you!"

Owens rolled his eyes and exchanged a look with Jack. Harry, sitting beside her husband, smirked.

Juana, however, said, "From what you have told us, it does not seem likely she would betray us. To be forced to marriage with such a one! For we have met Don Esparza's son, you see, and he is quite as loathsome as you would expect."

"The apple don't fall far from the tree," Jack observed.

Juana laughed. "I have never heard that saying before! It is most apt, not only to Esparza but also to you. How it amuses me that the pirate of my dreams now has a wife and a little son."

Jack shrugged, and said airily, "These things happen, even to the best of us," and then grinned at the sharp jab of Harry's elbow.

"_Malvado_!" Juana chided.

"_Malvado_, indeed," agreed Harry.

Don Alejandro said, diplomatically, "Our friend enjoys a jest, but one is aware of his great regard for his wife and son. But Juana, concerning the cup: if I am not mistaken, we have several similar vessels in our kitchen."

"Sí, we do! I will bring one to our young conspirators here. Ah, if only Señorita Fuensantos may not fail us! If she has spoken the truth, all should be quite simply accomplished."

"That would be a glad relief," said James.

"Aye, and damned unusual, too," said Jack, adding with patently false penitence, "if you'll excuse me French."

o-o-o

After a light luncheon and cool drinks, all parties repaired to their respective chambers to partake of a siesta in the heat of the long afternoon.

Jack skillfully regained the ground he had lost with Harry at the (perhaps) ill-judged remark he'd made on the carriage ride, and, once negotiations were concluded to their mutual satisfaction, settled down for a peaceful nap with her, her head a pleasant weight against his shoulder, the warmth of her, where she curled against him, skin on skin, comforting in spite of the heat.

However, when the afternoon was fading to early evening, a knock was heard on the door, and they woke sluggishly, Jack to a dead arm, and both of them sticky with sweat. Harry groaned, and Jack made a feeble grab for the sheet, pulling it over the two of them, but it was only Alphonse, and Amelie, looking quite crisp, cool, and annoyingly awake. Fortunately, the valet and dresser had come with good tidings.

As Amelie went to draw back the drapes, Alphonse said, brightly, "Mon Capitaine! Such luxury: there is a bath set up in a tiled room down the hall, which looks onto a private garden! The tub is large enough for the two of you, if you are not averse to bathing together."

"Averse," murmured Jack, and turned his head on the pillow to look at his wife. "Would you say we were averse, darlin'?"

Harry, too sleepy for subtlety, chuckled.

o-o-o

By dinnertime, the heat of the day had dissipated to a great extent, bathing and primping had been completed, and everyone was feeling much fresher and ready to meet whatever challenges the evening might hold.

"The reception will be quite informal," said Juana. "Only half the delegates to the summit are arrived as yet. But there will be dancing, and a supper served at midnight. Esparza employs two chefs, one of them just to make pastries, breads, and desserts. That is the reason for the light repast you see before you."

Harry laughed. "But no, this is wonderful!" she said, indicating the array of mostly cold dishes that has been assembled for their delectation. "And it is too warm, as yet, to eat much, anyway. The supper later will be pleasant, but I am more excited about the dancing! It is an activity I love, and Jack is very good at it, though he prefers the cardroom to the ballroom."

"It's not as though my absence deprives you of partners, love," Jack said, helping himself to some fresh bread and butter.

"No, but I prefer to dance with you, given a choice in the matter," Harry replied, selecting several slices of fruit from a platter of etched silver.

Jack smiled. "Well, in consideration of peaceful relations, I'll oblige you tonight. I'm feelin' decidedly lightfooted." He lowered his voice, and added, "Must've been that lovely bath. All that splashin' about-- good thing the floors were tiled, eh?"

Harry blushed, grinning, and Juana, who had overheard the remark, chuckled delightedly.

o-o-o

It was fully dark by the time James, 'Lord and Lady Byrd', and the Corozóns were ready to depart for the reception. The warm, tropical night was lit with stars and the sweet scents of night-blooming flowers. The carriage, a smaller but very well-sprung affair, pulled up to the door.

"Take care with that little wench of yours," said Jack to Charles. "It's easy to be taken in by a pair of pretty brown eyes and seemingly innocent ways. After all, look at me!"

Harry objected, saying, "I never made a pretense of innocence with you!"

"Didn't have to, as it happens, did you?" Jack retorted with a grin. He said to Charles, conspiratorially, "Thinks she's quite up to snuff, and I don't like to disillusion her, in the interest of marital bliss an' all."

Harry scowled, and Charles, seeing it, laughed. "I'll be careful, sir."

Owens said, pointedly, "We'll both be careful."

"See that you are," Jack said. "It'd be most inconvenient if you was to be clapped up in _El Morro_."

o-o-o

The moon had not yet risen at ten o'clock, when 'Miguel' and 'Carlos' walked into the garden at the east side of the cathedral. The garden, nearly as old as the building itself, was full of large trees and overgrown shrubbery, and it was a simple matter for one small Spanish maiden to keep hidden until her co-conspirators made their appearance. For a few moments she had some difficulty identifying them, for they had donned dark, rather worn-looking clothing, in an effort to deflect unwanted attention, and 'Carlos' had covered his bright hair with a scarf. But when she had ascertained their identities, she stepped boldly from the shadows, dressed now in peasant's garb, and carrying a serviceable bag, her heart pounding uncomfortably.

"There you are!" Carlos whispered, recognizing her immediately. He came toward her with an open smile, and put out his hands, saying in his awkward Spanish, "I knew you would not fail us!"

She dropped the bag to the grass and thrilled at the touch of his big hands on her small ones. "No, indeed, señor. But… but perhaps you will fail me, I think. I have a great favor I must ask of you."

Miguel translated, and added, "Is this to do with the bag you have there, señorita?"

Lucia looked up at him, and then at her Carlos. "Sí. It is. I… I beg you to give me sanctuary, señors. I will not marry the son of Esparza, and my aunt… " Lucia broke off as tears came to her eyes at the recollection, but then gathered her courage. "My aunt has said I will not return to San Cristobal with her and my uncle. She means to force me to marriage!"

"My God!" exclaimed Miguel, with far more vehemence than either Lucia or Carlos thought appropriate, for they both turned to him in surprise. He seemed barely able to speak for a moment, but then blurted, "_Fuensantos_! My God! Who are your aunt and uncle, _señorita_? Tell me they are not…" But he did not utter any name.

Lucia frowned, wondering if Miguel were perhaps a little mad. "My uncle is the mayor of Santo Cristobal on the island of Hispañola. His name also is Carlos—Don Carlos Nuñez y Silva."

Carlos's hands squeezed hers tightly of a sudden, but he looked now to his friend, who had turned a little pale under his deep tan. "Michael. Is it them? Her? Your señora?"

"What is it, Señor Miguel?" Lucia asked, suddenly afraid.

Miguel looked at her, his eyes haunted, but he straightened and said evenly. "We will help you Lucia, for I know your aunt and uncle. My parents died, too, nine years ago, and for a while after that I was a servant to your aunt."

Lucia understood, now. "Ah, Miguel. I… I am sorry. I have seen how she deals with her servants, and especially the young ones. It grieves me to know you were once of their number. But you escaped!"

"I begged Captain Sparrow to take me with him, on the _Black Pearl_. I have been with him since that day!"

"Do you mean the pirate who…" Lucia saw that it was so, even before she completed the sentence. "My aunt has spoken of this to me. She said you were kidnapped!"

"No, Lucia," said Miguel. "But… you said your aunt and uncle went to that reception tonight?"

"Did Captain Sparrow go, too?" Lucia exclaimed.

Miguel nodded slowly, looking quite horrified.

There was silence for a long moment. Then Carlos cleared his throat. "Perhaps she won't recognize him. It's a good disguise, and it's been eight years."

But Miguel's eyes told the tale, even before he said, "It'd been twenty or more with the Corozóns, Charles. And they knew him right off."

o-o-o


	11. Spanish Night, Part 1: The Reception

**Chapter Ten**: **_Spanish Night_**

**Part 1 – The Reception**

Leaning back against the squabs of the Corozón's carriage as it made its way up the road and into the moonlit hills, Henrietta Sparrow listened less than attentively to the conversation of her companions, being preoccupied with various Distractions. One of these was the delightful sensation of surreptitiously returning the caress of her husband's fingers (those of the closer right hand, the left being engaged in illustrating his words). Another was the comfortable and really very gratifying reflection that she had rarely been more content. Although she did not miss her life back in England, with its endless rounds of balls, card parties, formal dinners and other society entertainments, she did very much enjoy attending such functions here in the Caribbean, and never more so than when Jack was by her side. This was, unfortunately, unusual enough to qualify as a Special Occasion.

They had been married for over seven years, but had actually lived together rather less than half that time. Such was the lot of a sailor and a sailor's wife. Jack was no ordinary sailor, of course: his business was far more dangerous than that. But Harry had accepted this, and his long absences, from the start of their marriage. She had steeled herself against worry and heartache, and loneliness, too, and she had done her best to avoid burdening Jack with outward signs of distress. She had resolved from the beginning that, if they must be 'leg-shackled', their precious time together would be focused on the joys of life. On the whole, she felt she had been successful in this resolve.

Of course there was that second Christmas, the one of which she'd reminded Jack. The _Black Pearl_ had been caught in a dreadful storm, early in the season, and had taken such damage that its loss, including all hands, had been feared. Thank God she'd been at their little cove, away from the plantation, when he'd found her on his return, for her stoicism and reserve had quite failed her at the sight of him, after weeks of forlorn and desperate hope.

And then there was the black time when she had lost her baby girl. Though Jack had been many leagues away, he had somehow sensed something was wrong and had turned the _Pearl_ toward home, stopping briefly at Port Royal to find that the doctor and the Turners had been summoned to St. Claire. The _Black Pearl_ had sailed into the South Bay only a few days after it was all over. Harry had been too ill and weak to conceal her grief, but he had been very patient in comforting her, perhaps because he had needed comforting himself. That was the first time she'd realized he'd not only reconciled himself to her condition, but that he had actually been anticipating the baby with joy. It was a continuing sorrow that she could bear no more children, but the burden was made lighter because it was shared.

But perhaps it was all for the best. Tom was growing up, and his parents were poised on the brink of change, a change that could mean a new sort of life for them all.

Over the years, Jack had told Harry a great deal about his travels, which had taken him all over the world, on ships of every size. There had been exotic sights, adventures and new people to meet around every corner. It was a grand life, an exciting life, and he'd given Harry and Tom a taste of it when he'd taken them to Europe, after… after the black time. And now Harry wanted more of it. She wanted more of shipboard life, of stormy nights, and pearly dawns, and the sound of water lapping against the stern tugging her awake; of dinners by candlelight in the great cabin, or rum and ship's biscuit in the fo'c'sle while O'Brien played his fiddle; of quiet times watching the sun set over foreign shores; of delight, and danger, sharing hardship and good fortune; of feeling completely alive and free. She wanted her little son to have both his mother and his father beside him as he grew to be a man. And she wanted to be with Jack, every morning and every night, to work with him and walk with him, and care for him.

She knew quite well that Jack had doubts about this scheme. But things were different now than they'd been on that trip to Italy. She was once again in blooming health, and quite capable of doing her part in a business venture, as well as helping with… domestic matters. Her lips, ever so lightly rouged for the reception, curved in a little smile at the scope of 'domestic matters', and she glanced up at Jack.

He noticed her scrutiny immediately, and turned to her, lifting a brow and smiling back. "You've been awfully quiet, Mrs. Sparrow," he murmured.

"Just enjoying the company," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "I'm having such a good time!"

Jack lifted her hand, placing a kiss on her fingers, and even as she felt herself coloring with pleasure at the touch of his lips she vowed she would prove herself an asset to him. She had a level head, and knew how to use it when the need arose.

**o-o-o**

Don Esparza lifted her hand, kissing the air just above her fingers, and Harry paled slightly, repressing a shudder. Then the oily villain said, "And may I present to you my friend and guest, Don Carlos Nuñez y Silva. He is visiting from the little town on Hispañola where he is mayor," and Harry felt Jack stiffen almost imperceptibly.

Harry curtsied to the round, mustachioed little man, and he and Jack exchanged bows.

Don Carlos said to them, "My wife…she is here somewhere, though not by my side at present, as you see. She will want to meet you, Doña Byrd, and also the wife of our esteemed Don Corozón. I will bring her to you, later in the evening."

Harry smiled and murmured her pleasure at the prospect, and Jack nodded and took Harry's arm, steering her away and toward the deserted refreshment tables. "What is it?" Harry hissed.

"Need a drink," Jack said, quietly. "That Nuñez y Silva fella: d'you not remember that name?"

"It did seem familiar…" Harry frowned. "You know him, then?"

"He was the mayor of Santo Christobal—where Owens came from."

They had reached the tables, and he proceeded to pour himself a splash of brandy, tossed it off, and poured another.

"Owens…" Memory came flooding back, and Harry looked up at her husband with horror in her eyes. "Those were the people for whom Owens worked? The ones that…"

"'Twas the wife, mostly, from what Owens told us. You should've seen the marks on the lad, and for the least thing-- or nothin' at all, I suspect. She's here, somewhere, and I don't bloody know what she looks like!"

"You never saw her?"

"She was under the bed, screechin', while I was in their room. Caught a glimpse of her hangin' out the window, of course, before I shot the flowerpot next to her. _Be brave, my love! Do not tell heem!_ Bloody hell!"

"Perhaps she didn't see much of you, either. And, in any case, your disguise is good. She won't know you."

"Juana did!"

"Well, yes," agreed Harry. "But she remembered you with eyes of love. I doubt the señora _wanted_ to remember!"

Jack saw the logic of this, and his expression lightened. "'Eyes of love', eh?" he teased.

"Of course, _Malvado_," Harry said with a chuckle. "How could she help it? But the señora saw only an evil pirate abusing her husband. It is not the same at all. And look at you!" She stood back a little and did so, smiling at the slim figure: heeled shoes with diamond buckles, clocked stockings, fitted blue satin breeches, a white shirt of fine lawn, elegant waistcoat (elaborately embroidered in the Chinese style), and flowing justaucorps. And long, dark curls framing a clean-shaven face that was so much more than merely handsome. Harry's eyes twinkled. "I could devour you whole, you are so delicious!"

Jack laughed. "You're looking quite edible yourself, love, but that sort of repast will have to wait 'til later." He looked around at the company once more, then took her hand. "P'rhaps you're right: the disguise is likely deep enough. But keep a sharp eye, and we'd best leave as soon as may be. Come: we'll let James and the Corozóns know what's in the wind."

Juana and Don Alejandro were concerned at Jack's tale, but James appeared to be somewhat exasperated. "It is to be hoped this woman will not know you, dressed as you are. But indeed, I believe you should leave as soon as possible. There is no particular reason for you to be here, after all. Harry: perhaps you can fall into a faint, so that your notorious spouse will be obliged to see you home."

"Faint! But how poor spirited. I never faint!"

"Yes, you do," said Jack, accusingly.

Harry flushed. "Only that once! And it was excessively hot. _And_ I was increasing!"

Jack chuckled, eyes alight at her annoyance. "So you were—and you look remarkably lively tonight. It'd maybe be best if you turned an ankle instead. We'll have a dance, and then I can sweep you up and carry you from the room. What say you?"

Harry ground her teeth. "I say it will make me look devilish clumsy! But I suppose needs must."

"No worries: I'll make it up to you later. Listen: they're starting up the dance. M'lady?" Jack held out an arm.

She set her hand on the elegantly clad appendage, and allowed him to lead onto the floor, but said, "I was looking forward to dancing with you all the evening! At least we shall have this one—I will turn my ankle near the end, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, ma'am. I'm entirely at your service."

She dimpled at this, and at the graceful bow he made to her, as he took his place in the formation.

It was a _contredance_ of sorts, with a dozen couples making up the set. The introductory music concluded, and the dance began. Harry and Jack were soon separated by the movements, although they caught each others' eyes occasionally as the dance went on. Harry, as always, was most gratified to see the ease with which Jack moved through the steps of the dance, all the more surprising as he so seldom had the opportunity to practice. Perhaps it was the grace he'd learned from years of swordplay, or a talent gained in his youth, nurtured to impress the females of his acquaintance. _She_ was certainly impressed! As were several other ladies. One of them, a middle-aged señora with a prim mouth and speaking eyes, seemed particularly interested, and Harry's heart gave a lurch as the woman's brows twitched together. Harry had perforce to turn away for a moment, and when the lady next came to view she was saying something to her partner, who nodded in affirmation and inclined his head toward Jack. _It cannot be!_ Harry thought, desperately.

But apparently it was. The movements of the dance brought Jack and the lady together briefly. He smiled, and turned, flouncing off down the line, and the lady actually stopped to gape at him, upsetting the progression of those behind her in the dance.

"That man!" she said, her voice edged with outrage.

Harry determined that it was time to take action. "That man is my husband, lady. Are you all right? Would you like to sit down?"

"Your husband!" The woman turned to Harry as the dancers flowed around them. "Madre de Dios! That man is a pirate! A kidnapper!" She turned away and called out, "_Carlos_!"

Harry caught the señora by the shoulder, and turned her forcibly, saying, "Madame, I assure you…"

"Your _husband_!" the senora spat derisively. "Do not touch me, pirate's whore!" She followed this slap with a far more tangible one, the heel of her hand connecting hard with Harry's cheekbone.

Harry gave a startled yelp of mingled pain and outrage, for she had never been struck in all her life, that she could remember (and she certainly would not have forgotten such a humiliation). "How dare you!" she gasped, instantly furious, and grabbed the señora's arm, her nails biting into the puffy flesh.

The señora, who had been in the midst of again demanding her husband's attendance, whipped around, her other arm raised, but her foot slipped on the slick tiles and she shrieked as she lost her balance and fell in a welter of skirts, pulling Harry down to land on top of her.

The señora drummed her heels against the tiles, on the verge of hysterics, and Harry, realizing that discretion was no longer an issue, gleefully silenced her by wrapping deceptively dainty fingers 'round the woman's neck and squeezing for all she was worth: for herself, and for Jack, and especially for Owens. There was a huge tumult going on around them, but Harry, teeth bared and set, was deaf to it, and blind to anything but the delightful sight of the señora's bulging eyes and purpling face.

And then familiar hands grabbed at her, pulling her up, and Jack's voice said in her ear, "Harry, _no_! Bloody hell, we're for it now!"

Gasping, Harry backed against his comforting form, her cheek throbbing painfully, and looked about her, feeling as though she were waking into a nightmare. There were dress swords bared, and many eyes upon her and Jack, angry ones for the most part, but some that were sympathetic or amused.

The señora's husband finally reached her side, and was helping her up, all solicitude. "Carlos! Carlos, it is the pirate! The one who took our gold and my dresses, and our turkey carpet! The one who kidnapped that boy!"

"But no, my dear…"

"But _yes_, Carlos! Look at him! Ah, the _devil!_ So fair of face, and all the while laughing at us!"

Señor Nuñez y Silva turned and studied Jack for a long moment, his brows slowly drawing together. "_Madre de Dios!_ You are right, Dolores. He is very like… it _is_ him! _Esparza_!"

Esparza, whose sword was at the ready, came to stand next to his friend. The Don said, outraged, "This man… this Englishman is a pirate?"

"He is an English privateer, Don Esparza," said Norrington's cool voice from beside Harry and Jack. "He has possessed a Letter of Marque for many years now, and merely does his duty for his king, as do Spaniards of the same ilk."

Don Carlos said, "He is Jack Sparrow! A villainous pirate! He and his men attacked my town, and tortured me to gain information. He is without honor, without scruples!"

"Were any killed in the attack?"

"No, but…"

"What difference does this make?" snapped Esparza.

Norrington said, "You forget we were at war at that time, Don Esparza. It could have been much worse."

The señora said, "He took my servant – one Miguel Owens! Who knows what uses a pirate has for a small boy."

The insinuation was obvious, and Jack and Harry both tensed, angrily. But Norrington placed a collected hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Owens is now also in the employ of the crown, and has proved himself worthy many times," Norrington said, calmly. "He was not taken, Don Esparza, but ran from these, who abused him. Lord and Lady Byrd have been as parents to him these eight years."

"Byrd is not that man's name!" exclaimed the señora, hotly.

"It is one of them, señora," said Norrington. "Do you think there are no others here that go by other names?" The Admiral looked pointedly at Esparza.

Esparza gave a slow, and very evil smile. "So. You know much, it seems. Yet you, Admiral, have brought this man, and his termagant of a wife, into our midst, for what purpose we can only imagine, and I tell you he shall not go free. Not now, and perhaps never."

With a snap of Esparza's fingers, armed guards were summoned. And Harry, her hurts forgotten, heart like a stone, gave a little exclamation of distress and clutched at Jack's beringed hands. She felt him bend and say against her hair, "Courage, lass," and she drew herself up, and glared at Esparza.

Esparza saw her, and his lip curled. He said to Jack, "Though she has done harm to Senora Nuñez y Silva, for the present we shall release your…wife…into the custody of Don Alejandro and Admiral Norrington. You, however, will be taken to El Morro, pirate, for we have many questions to ask you regarding your presence here among us. I advise you to be honest with us, and forthcoming, or the night is not like to be a pleasant one. Guards: take him."

James stepped forward and Harry found herself being gently released to him. "James!" she pleaded, though it seemed useless.

"Hush, Harry," came Norrington's reply. "Don Corozón, will you take charge of Lady Byrd. I will accompany Lord Byrd, and see that protocol is maintained."

"Of course," said Don Alejandro, from where he had stood, watching. "But after I see the lady to my home, I will join you. This incident must not be allowed to disrupt the summit any more than it has already done."

Harry watched in horror as two armed guards seized Jack. He gave her a rueful grimace, and then was turned away, perforce. Norrington gave Harry's arm a light squeeze, and followed. For a moment she was utterly alone and bereft. But then Don Alejandro and Juana were there, on either side.

"Come, my friend," said Juana, quietly. "We will go home, and the men will do what they will do."

Harry swallowed hard, not liking the sound of this at all. She turned to Juana, who met her gaze, but only smiled sadly.

And Don Alejandro said to them both, "Come, my dears: it is time to go home."

**o-o-o**


	12. Spanish Night, Part 2: The Cathedral

**Chapter Ten: _Spanish Night_**

** Part 2 – The Cathedral**

Michael Owens straightened, and turned away from Charles and Lucia, looking toward the hills where Don Esparza's estate lay. The Captain and his wife were headed there; indeed, might already have arrived. The same bright stars and sickle moon shone down on them all, and the estate's grounds were no doubt planted with the same sorts of herbs and night blooming flowers that made the air around the cathedral here a joy to breath.

It seemed very unfair that such a night might be fraught with danger for those he loved.

Charles set a hand on his arm. "Michael…my father is with them. You know he'll protect Jack, if he can."

"I know it," Michael said, slowly. He looked at Charles. "And Don Corozón: he too seems to be a friend, and has influence among the Spaniards."

"That's right!" said Charles, encouragingly. "Jack's been in tighter spots than this and come through unscathed. He'll be fine."

Michael nodded. He summoned a slight smile for Lucia's benefit, and said in Spanish, "In any case, we can't let this turn us from our goal. Señorita, are you still willing to show us the secret way into the sepulcher?"

"Oh, _sí! Sí!_ Come: I will show you both. It is over here. Be very quiet, if you please. There is a night watchman inside the cathedral."

The two young men quietly followed Lucia toward the back of the cathedral, the wall of the building looming dark before them. They emerged briefly from the shadows of the trees and crossed quickly to a recessed area directly against the building, where a stone stairway led down to a sheltered alcove.

"Here it is!" Lucia said.

In the dim light they could barely make out where a square opening in the ground was covered by a barred grate. It was something over a foot square, but too narrow to allow a man to gain entrance.

"It leads directly into the sepulcher," Lucia whispered. "It lets in a little light and air, and there is an ingenious system built into it to collect the sweet rain and divert it to a stone cistern, which is blessed and provides Holy Water for the cathedral."

Charles looked at the opening in dismay. "It's too small! Neither of us would fit."

Lucia frowned. "Perhaps I…"

"No!" exclaimed Charles. "You're a dainty piece, but… no. I'll not have you take the chance. We'd need someone half your size."

Owens looked up at that. "Y'know who _would_ fit, don't you?"

Charles gaped in silence for a second, then hissed, "You're mad! Jack'd never allow it, and Harry'd have a fit!"

"We're not going to ask."

"Michael! He'll murder the both of us!"

"Only if Tom came to harm – but he won't, Charles!"

"Of what do you speak?" Lucia asked.

Michael said to her, "We know someone half your size, señorita. It's Tom Sparrow, the Captain's son. He's out on the _Black_ _Pearl_, our ship."

"He is a young boy?" Lucia said. "_Sí_… it might work. But… he must be a brave and very quiet boy: as I said, there is a night watchman, and in the sepulcher are… well… _tombs_! I was a little afraid, even during the day, when there was light coming from this opening. At night I think it would be much more frightening."

Michael frowned and was silent for a minute as he considered every aspect of the scheme. But finally he said, "I believe he could do it. I'll go fetch him from the _Pearl_, and some rope, and a lantern as well. Is the case that holds the cup locked up at night?"

"I do not know," said Lucia.

"I'll bring a tool or two, just to be on the safe side."

Charles said, uneasily, "We're going through with it? Tonight?"

"Aye," Michael said, firmly. "We may not get another chance, Charles. Who knows what's happening at that reception."

Charles frowned. "That's true enough. Lord, I wish this whole thing were over and done, and all of us safe, back aboard the _Pearl_."

"Well, we ain't," Michael retorted, "so we'd best get on with it. It's tonight or never, I'm thinkin'. Will you stay here with Lucia while I go for the necessities?"

"Of course. But you'll be hours!"

"Only a couple…or three at most," said Michael. He turned to Lucia. "My friend will stay with you while I go for the boy, and some equipment. Charles may be trusted, I think, though he is likely not the sort of escort to which you are accustomed."

Lucia chuckled. "No, indeed. And yet, as you say, I think he may be trusted." She put her hand out to Charles, in a gesture of friendship, but then blushed when he caught it and brought her fingers to his lips.

When he lifted his head, he said, "I will protect her with my life, if need be."

Michael said, wryly, "Just make sure she don't need protection from Charles Norrington, mate. If she cries foul when I return _I'll_ murder you, before Jack has his chance!"

**o-o-o**

"Tom! Tom, wake up, lad."

There was a gentle hand shaking him, and Tom struggled up from the depths of a dream, a lovely one in which he was finally allowed to climb up to the crow's-nest with his Da, higher and higher up the ratlines, wind and sun on their faces, the sparkling sea spreading out wider and wider as the _Pearl_ shrank below them. But the hand did not desist, and he groaned, and muttered, "Michael, stop it! I was nearly there," his voice slurred with sleep.

"You'll make it another time, lad. I need a favor of you."

Tom sat up, and rubbed his eyes, then looked around. There was a bit of light, from the small lantern Michael carried, but Tom could tell right off it wasn't near morning. "A favor? What do you mean? Where's Da?"

"He and your mama are gone to a reception – there's talk and music and dancing and suchlike. They'll be havin' a grand time." Michael said a swift, silent prayer that he spoke the truth. Then he went on, "But Charles and I, we came across a lady friend who's shown us a way to get the Chalice! The only thing is, we need you to help us."

"Me!" Tom exclaimed, immediately thrilled at the prospect of being involved in a scheme vital to their purpose here in Santiago. Learning to tie knots and studying navigation were no doubt useful to a sailor, but he longed with all his heart to be adventuring along with his parents and friends. But… "Does Da know? Did he send you to fetch me?"

Owens gave him a sober look. "No, Tom. He don't know anything about this. But… well, it would take a long time to explain the whole thing, but the short of it is, we may not have another chance. It has to be tonight, if we're to get the cup, and we need you to do it."

"Why me?" Tom asked, worriedly.

"The cup's in a room under the altar – the sepulcher. There's only one door to it, and it's locked and there's a guard stationed in the cathedral. But our lady friend's shown us another way in – a big air shaft, like, only not big enough for any of us. But you, bein' littler, could get in right smart, get the cup, and be out before anyone's the wiser!"

Tom's intrepid heart swelled, but then faltered, thinking of his father's words. "But… Da ordered me to stay on the _Pearl_, Michael. And he'll leave me behind if I don't. When they go to Italy, I mean."

"I know what he told you," said Michael, rather gently. "And I can't lie to you: you'll be takin' a risk – and us too, for I'm not sure what he'll say about it when he finds out. I believe if he knew, he'd want you to help us. But it's your decision, and I won't hold it against you if you refuse."

Tom was silent for a minute as he weighed the certainty of clandestine adventure and the opportunity to play the hero against the chance of paternal wrath and the possibility of a long separation from both his parents. It was a terrible choice.

But then, just as he was about to say no, he hesitated, and began to consider what would happen if he refused. Owens wouldn't argue. He'd pat him on the shoulder and bid him goodnight, and go back to tell Charles and their friend that, so sorry, they could not rely on Tom Sparrow's help. And Tom Sparrow, why, he'd be left alone in the cabin, staring into the dark and feeling like the veriest coward!

He couldn't do it! He couldn't. And especially if they failed to get the cup, as Owens feared would happen: it would be Tom Sparrow's fault, and no mistake. And then it wouldn't only be a matter of begging his father's forgiveness.

_Do the right thing, whether the order's given or not._

Tom looked up at Owens, and nodded. "I'll get dressed, then, shall I?"

**o-o-o**

"You lied to Mr. Gibbs, Michael."

Michael Owens looked at the little boy sitting so quiet and serious across from him in the jollyboat as he rowed them back across the bay. The _Pearl_ was fading behind them, and the only sound for some time had been the dip of the oars in the silver and black of the water. Now Owens knew why.

"No, Tom," Owens said. "I told him your Da needed you, and so he does. It's just that your Da don't happen to know it."

Tom digested this. "Then… it wasn't a lie?"

"No," Owens said, slowly. "Of course it wasn't the whole truth, either. But that's best kept to ourselves, if we've a chance of getting the cup tonight. It'll be all right."

Tom seemed to accept this, and was a little easier with things, after that. He began to look around more, at the beauty of the stars and the moon, now low in the sky, and at the other boats and ships that were moored in the harbor, shadowy, distant shapes in the faint light.

After a little, Tom turned to Owens again. "You think there's ghosts down there with the cup?"

Owens gave a little chuff of laughter. "No, Tom. Or if there are, they'll be benevolent ones. Their earthly remains have been buried on hallowed ground for some time now. Bound to've had a good effect on their souls, don't you think?"

"Aye," agreed Tom. "Like the ones on the _Pearl_. They're good ones, too."

"The ones on the _Pearl_?" Owens frowned.

"In the brig."

"There's ghosts in the brig?"

"Aye."

Owens nodded slowly. Tom began to look around again, and Owens decided to let the matter drop. For now.

They reached the city docks a few minutes later, tied off the jollyboat, and climbed ashore.

Tom gave a little skip as they started off up the road to the cathedral. "Wish it was daylight. Are there markets and parks and dogs and boys and things?"

"Shhhh! And keep to the shadows. Aye, there are all kinds of things here. It's a great city."

"How far's the cathedral?"

"About a mile. Let's be quiet now. Best we don't alert half the town to our presence, eh?"

"Aye, Michael." Tom skipped along lightheartedly, though he was quiet and kept to the shadows as commanded. Michael couldn't help but chuckle at him. Oh, he was Jack's son, all right.

The boy was moving a bit more slowly by the time they reached the cathedral, for it was quite a walk from the docks, and uphill at that. But when Owens led him through the garden and then down the steps to the alcove, he perked right up again.

"Charles!" Tom said, excitedly, though he remembered to keep his voice down.

Charles and Lucia had just got to their feet, and Charles gave Tom a swift hug. "Tom, old son! You're a game one, and no mistake. This is our friend, Señorita Lucia Delma Fuensantos."

Tom bowed, and said, in Spanish, "I am honored to meet you, Señorita Fuensantos."

Lucia chuckled, delightedly, and curtsied deep. "The pleasure is mine, señor, truly."

Owens said, "There'll be time to flirt with her later, young Sparrow. Señorita, did Charles take good care of you?"

"Oh, _sí_!" said Lucia, and looked up at Charles, her eyes alight. "The best of care."

Charles said, provocatively, "We got on handsomely. You might have stayed away even longer: we wouldn't have minded."

Tom looked from Charles to Lucia, and said, sagely, "Ah, like that, is it?"

The others laughed (as quietly as possible), even Lucia, who got the gist of it from Tom's tone, but then Owens said, "All right, enough o' that, you precocious young varmint. Are you ready to try this?"

Tom turned around to face the looming cathedral, and then went to study the shaft into the sepulcher. "Aye. It's plenty big."

"You think so?" Owens looked at the opening, and at Tom, sizing them up. "I think you're right. Let's get it done, then."

**o-o-o**

It wasn't quite as easy as Tom had thought it would be.

For a start, it took Michael and Charles forever merely to get the grate off the opening. Apparently it hadn't been moved in a long time, and was, moreover, latched down somehow. Tom stood fidgeting while the two worked on it with the few tools Michael had brought from the ship, but Lucia's serenity and faith in their ability to succeed went some way toward calming him. He chatted quietly with her, off and on.

"You speak my language very well, _Tomas_," Lucia said at one point. "I find it most surprising! How did you learn?"

Tom shrugged. "I've always known it. Michael speaks it, and my father, and some of the others on the _Pearl_. My father reads it to me, sometimes, too: _Don Quixote_!" He grinned.

"Ah!" Lucia nodded, and smiled back.

Then Owens exclaimed, "There! Finally!" and was lifting the heavy grate and setting it aside.

After that, Owens swiftly tied a line in a double loop bowline. "See, this is why you need to practice your knots, Tom."

"So's ye can break into cathedrals an' such?" Tom chuckled.

Owens laughed softly. "Aye. Or rescue a man that's hurt, or any number of other useful things. A rope's one of the simplest and best tools a man can have. Come here, now."

Tom obeyed, and Owens held the loops open so he could step into them, and then slipped them up his legs.

"You'll only be a minute in the dark—we'll drop the dark lantern down soon as you've reached the floor. I'll leave the panel open, but if you hear the watch coming you must shut the panel up right away. If he comes, I'll pull you back up, if there's time, or you may have to hide, still as a mouse. Lucia says there's alcoves, and some raised tombs you could hide behind. But if all goes well, you'll be able to get the cup and be back up here in no time."

"What if the case is locked? Shall I take some o'those tools with me?"

"No. Senorita Fuensantos says it didn't seem to have a lock on it when she saw it. If she's wrong about that, I'll drop the tools down, then. I'm hoping we won't have to: it's like to make more noise if you have to fool with a lock. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Here." Owens reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, carved wooden cup. "Doña Corozón gave me this, and it's pretty close in size and shape to the Saint's cup, from what we could tell, though it's a sight newer. You'll take St. Francis's cup out of its holder, and put this one in its stead. Hopefully it'll be a while before anyone's the wiser."

Tom nodded, and took the little cup, stuffing into his own pocket.

"You ready?" asked Owens.

"Aye," said Tom.

Owens gave him a swift hug. "Be careful. No noise, now."

Tom sat down at the edge of the opening, took hold of the rope and then eased off the edge into the dark shaft and began his descent. Small as he was, his shoulders brushed the walls of the shaft on both sides as he was lowered, but he did clear them easily enough to make the descent without too much need of squirming about. The air grew cooler the lower he went, and when he finally came out of the shaft and into the room, his heart was thudding uncomfortably at the still, cold blackness of the place. Gripping the rope tight, he looked back up, and could barely see Charles's head silhouetted against a patch of starlit sky.

"You all right?" Charles whispered loudly.

Tom swallowed hard. "Aye! Lower away."

Owens complied, and, after a few more moments there was a stone floor beneath Tom's feet and the tension of the rope eased. He could see nothing, but then the little lantern was being lowered down the shaft, its light a cheery sight as it descended. Tom swiftly removed the rope loops from about his legs, and then caught the lantern as it came level with him.

Owens hissed, "How is it?"

"Fine," returned Tom, untying the lantern. He held it up and cautiously looked about him.

The room was so large that the light of the lantern did not reach the walls to either side. Tom could see the one at the back, though, and it was painted with bright, beautiful pictures and patterns: animals, birds, twining vines, and then people in odd clothing and haloes. _Saints_, he thought, remembering some vaguely similar ones he'd seen in Italian churches.

To his left, a few feet away, there were shadowy, boxlike shapes of stone, with writing carved on their heavy lids: tombs. He'd seen raised tombs like these in a church in England, near Fairlea, the Fanshawes' estate, where they'd stayed with the Duke, his mother's cousin by her first marriage; only those had lids carved with the likenesses of the people within, as they'd appeared in death, supposedly. Mostly they'd looked asleep. But Tom was glad these Spanish tombs were just plain, anyway.

Although… there was that feeling. Like in the _Pearl's_ brig.

He squinted into the darkness and deep shadows, but nothing stirred. It was most eerily silent in fact.

Tom swallowed again, and looked back up the shaft. "You're still there?" he called to Owens.

"Aye!" came the quick reply, to Tom's relief.

"I'll get the cup then," Tom said, and turned away, quickly.

He looked to the opposite side now, where there were some statues, and more designs on the walls, and a huge crucifix, nearly life size and most gruesomely rendered, like some of those he'd seen in Italian churches, but even worse. The suffering Christ riveted his attention for a long minute, and when he finally was able to drag his eyes from it he had to give a nervous chuckle, for directly under it lay the marble pedestal and the ornate case he had been told to look for: the cup's resting place.

Firmly reminding himself that they were here to get the cup so they could return it to its rightful owners, Tom tried to ignore the suffering image above and kept his eyes on the gold and jeweled box as he approached. It was very beautiful – worth a king's ransom, no doubt – but to his relief, there did not appear to be any lock on it. He put his fingers around the handle and pulled, and sure enough, it opened immediately.

But not silently. Whether by neglect or by design, the door gave a most audible squeak of unoiled hinges, and it sounded horribly loud in the gloomy stillness of the sepulcher.

Tom's heart stopped, then lurched to a frantic start. He could hear Owens' hissing concern at the noise, but Tom ignored this, and reached in for the chalice in its holder. It was heavy in his hand as he quickly squatted, setting the lantern and the chalice down on the cold stone floor. Hands shaking, he took Doña Corozón's little cup from his pocket. The richness of the holder made little impression on him; he was merely thankful the cups were so much of a size that the exchange was made with ease. But as he put the Saint's cup in his pocket, the faint sounds he had been dreading came to his ears: echoing footsteps, and the noise of a door being unlocked, up a flight of stairs that opened to the corner of the room that lay before him.

Quick as thought he put the false chalice back in the case, closing it quickly and wincing at the repeat of that squeak. Then he picked up the lantern and hesitated, for a moment, before deciding it was too late to get clean away. He went over to where the shaft let in faint grey starlight.

"I've got it, but hide the rope!" he hissed imperatively to Owens, whom he could see looking down at him. "Someone's coming and there's no time!"

Tom heard Owens swear, and the rope began to disappear as Tom turned toward the side of the room where lay the silent tombs. It was a matter of moments to scurry in among them, and, choosing the second to the last, he sat himself and the dark lantern down on the far side. Leaning back against the cold stone, he slid the panel shut on the lantern, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Sounds were dreadfully clear, however: the opening of the door, the footsteps coming down the steps. Then there was light again, as the watchman's lantern, larger than Tom's, cast its glow even over to the far walls. Tom held his breath, not moving a muscle, and said a silent prayer to the Saint whose hands had held the cup that lay against his side.

The blasted watchman took his time looking around, and Tom finally had to breath again, and gritted his teeth at the noise of it, though he made every effort to be quiet. There was the now familiar squeak as the watchman checked to see if the chalice was safe. Another squeak, and then more footsteps and brighter light as the man came closer to where the tombs lay. Tom's heart thudded in his chest, but he didn't move, and willed the man not to hear his breathing.

And it worked. After a long minute, the watchman turned away, his light and his footsteps fading as he left the chamber and climbed back up the stairs. Tom closed his eyes and said another prayer, of ecstatic thanks this time. It was hard to wait until the man went out, relocked the door and walked away on his rounds, the sound of his footsteps fading, but Tom did it.

Finally, he stood up. He had the cup. He could see the faint light coming from the shaft. He snatched up the lantern and made for it, walking quiet as his father'd taught him, and then, standing beneath the shaft once more, he called, soft but imperative: "Michael!"

The rope began its descent, even before Michael called to him. "Here it is, Tom lad. Quick now! Let's get you out!"

Tom didn't need to be told twice. He caught the rope as it reached him, and, setting the dark lantern on the floor, slipped the loops over his feet and up his legs. Owens was already drawing up the rope and Tom clutched it as he was hoisted up to the opening in the ceiling, struggled a bit to position himself, and then was drawn through the shaft, rough and quick, emerging into the night air where Owens and Charles grabbed his arms and lifted, setting him on his feet.

"I got it!" he said triumphantly, again.

Michael pulled him into a fierce hug. "You _almost_ got it, didn't you? Lord, that was too close."

Charles was pounding his back. "Good lad, Tom! A true Sparrow!"

Tom, released from the hug, turned and grinned, and said, "Of course! What did you…" But he broke off, his eyes widening in dismay. "Oh! Oh, no! I… " Tom turned to Owens. "Michael! The lantern! I've left it!"

There was silence for a long moment.

Tom finally said, "Let me back down. I'll fetch it."

But Michael said, "No."

"No?" Charles exclaimed.

"No. There's no markings. They won't know it's ours. We're leavin' it."

"But…" Tom began.

Michael cut him short. "No, Tom. You're not going down there again." Quickly he began to coil up the ropes, and the others, seeing he was adamant, picked up the tools and prepared to depart.

Tom felt awful, as though he would explode from vexation. To have come through all that with the cup, and then to leave such obvious evidence behind! What did it matter if the lantern wasn't marked? They'd realize immediately what had happened, and who knew what the consequences might be?

"Tom, lad."

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Tom looked up at Michael.

"It's all right. They were bound to notice the exchange, anyway. They'll just know a little sooner, is all. You did a fine job, lad, and never think otherwise. All right?"

Tom scowled, but saw the sense of his friend's words. Grudgingly, he growled, "All right. But next time…"

"What?" Michael smiled.

"Next time I won't forget _anything_!"

"That's right!" Michael gave Tom's shoulder a shake. "A successful adventure, and a lesson learned. Congratulations, Tom: you've done a good night's work."

**o-o-o**

The good night's work had taken far longer than any of them had anticipated. It was another long walk, through the quiet town, up into the hills, and the sky was paling to a rosy dawn by the time they were on the last leg of their journey to the Corozón estate.

Charles was carrying Lucia's bag in one hand, and had his other around her waist, "lest she stumble". Michael had offered to carry Tom, piggyback, but Tom had refused, though his feet were growing heavier, and his heart, too, the niggling dread of facing his father weighing on it in spite of the (mostly) successful mission.

"Almost there, now," said Michael, encouragingly.

Tom nodded, and turned around, walking backwards for a few steps to look at the view of harbor from here. But…

Tom stopped in his tracks. Where was the _Pearl_?

Michael turned back to him. "Shall I carry you, lad? What is it?" He looked up, and out at the bay in the direction of Tom's startled gaze. And then he exclaimed: "Jesus, Mary, an' Joseph!"

Charles and Lucia turned, and Charles demanded, "What?"

"The _Pearl_!" Michael exclaimed, pointing. "She's leaving the harbor – without us!"

**o-o-o-o**


	13. Malvados Queridos

**Chapter Eleven: _Malvados Queridos_**

Harry stood gripping the rail of the ship as she looked back across the bay, a vast expanse of rippling gray-blue in the pre-dawn light. Most of those in the city at the edges of its waters still lay sleeping, although there were, she thought miserably, several young men near and dear to her that were likely very much awake.

_Oh, Tom!_ she thought, and bit her lower lip to stop its trembling. She would _not_ cry!

She had shed remarkably few tears in these last hours, although she had not quite been able to refrain when Jack had at last been restored to them, outside the gates of _El Morro_, accompanied by Norrington. Though Alphonse's careful grooming had undergone some most disturbing changes, her husband's demeanor had seemed as composed as ever; but when he had entered the dimly lit coach she could see a look in his eyes, and a set expression to his mouth that told her there was more to this story.

She had said nothing, not trusting herself to speak as he'd climbed in and sat down beside her. But, after James took his seat, the door slammed shut, and the horses given the office to start, Jack had turned to her, and took her hand in his, summoning a tired smirk.

"An' how's me little 'termagant'?" he teased.

"Oh, Jack!" she whispered, her eyes filling.

Completely ignoring the presence of Norrington, Don Alejandro, and Juana, Jack scooped her into his arms and drew her onto his lap, settling back into the corner of the carriage seat to hold her close.

"Did they hurt you?" she said, very low.

"Not so much. James and Don Alejandro were of assistance on that score, thank God."

"Thank God, indeed!" She hugged him fiercely, and said in a shaking voice, "I'm sorry!"

But he'd chuckled at that. "Are you? But that was the best part of the evening, love."

She gave a little bark that was half laughter, half sob. "But did they not treat you more cruelly because of me?"

"No, Harry. If anything it helped, for otherwise they'd not have known of that woman's temper and propensity to violence. Here: let me see."

An insistent finger had lifted her chin, and she sat up a little, sniffling, and let him examine the livid mark under her left eye.

From the seat opposite them, Juana said, apologetically, "We set a cold compress on it when we arrived home, but I fear it was too late to be of use."

"Apparently so," Jack agreed, and placed a gentle kiss on the bruise. "Makes you look quite roguish, love. An honorable memento of a just conflict, bravely fought."

Harry laughed at this grandiose description of behavior that would be considered execrable by nearly anyone with pretensions to gentility. "I doubt my brother would agree."

"Ah, but he might. He's quite fond of Owens, you know."

"Yes – but that is another thing…" She broke off to take the handkerchief he was offering, blew her nose, as daintily as possible, and threw a "So sorry!" to the others before continuing: "Jack, the boys were not yet returned when we left! If they have not gone back to the _Pearl_, what shall we do?"

Norrington said, blandly, "There will be no difficulty. Unlike some persons of my acquaintance, I am not facing expulsion from Santiago and will attend the summit as planned. The delegation from Barbados – old Sir Godfrey Fortescue and his entourage, who were present at the reception tonight and witnessed the… er… debacle – have offered to let me stay with them. I'm certain he won't mind two additional guests. We will remove there, and they will see us back to Port Royal at the conclusion of the summit."

Don Corozón said, "You are welcome to stay on with us, James."

But Norrington said, "No, Don Alejandro. It is most kind of you, but I cannot believe our continued presence would be of benefit to you. We have put you through enough. And in something less than two days! That must be some sort of record, don't you think, Jack?"

Jack gave a long-suffering sigh, and said to Harry, "Trust Norrington to turn on a man with 'quips and sentences and paper bullets of the brain'."

"Yes!" said Harry, and cast a resentful look at the Admiral. "It is not well done of you, James!"

Norrington's eyes narrowed, and Jack said, "Oooh, Harry! Be careful. I fear our James might be more disapproving than your brother!"

But James refuted this. "Hardly. If I were, I would certainly refrain from close association with as pretty a pair of rogues as ever breathed."

Harry dimpled, but Jack scowled. "Pretty!"

"Or should I say 'beautiful'?" James goaded.

Jack rolled his eyes, conceding defeat. "Y'can say anything y'like, I suppose, seein' as how we're getting out of town in one piece."

Conversation had continued in this vein for the rest of the journey to the docks, where Gibbs was waiting in the cool hour before first light, as per the message Norrington had caused to be sent out to the ship. Two longboats and stout oarsmen had accompanied him, and were ready to haul the miscreants, their dresser, valet, and considerable luggage back to the _Pearl_. But when the carriages stopped and the passengers emerged, the good humor had rapidly dissipated.

Gibbs, who had not been given the reasons behind this hasty departure, sighed with relief at the sight of Jack as he emerged from the carriage. "Good t'see you, Captain! Something go amiss?"

"You might say that," said Jack, helping Harry down.

Gibbs stared at the Captain's lady in the lamplight. "Lord, what happened? You're hurt, ma'am!"

Harry said, "Only a little. But Gibbs: have you seen Owens and Charles?"

Gibbs gave a start. "They're not with you?"

"No," Jack said, in a low voice, for soldiers from _El Morro_ had accompanied them to the harbor, and were now watching from a little distance. "They were seein' about that _business_ of ours, and we thought maybe they'd had some success and gone back to the ship with… _it_."

But Gibbs shook his head, slowly, looking stunned. "Jack, Owens came over, hours ago, to fetch Tom. Didn't you send him?"

Jack stared, words temporarily failing him.

"Oh, God," Harry breathed, suddenly cold.

"Good Lord," Norrington said, sounding more annoyed than stunned.

Jack roused abruptly from his stupor and said, quiet, but fierce, "He came for Tom? No, I didn't send him! Do you mean Tom's off the ship?"

"He is that," said Gibbs. "So sorry, Jack, ma'am… but it was Owens! How was I to know? He said you needed Tom, for the… er… business."

"Oh, Jack!" said Harry. "What can we do?"

But Norrington spoke. "There is nothing that can be done at this present. You are under orders to leave before dawn, and certainly must do so. Owens would not do such a thing on a whim, and he and Charles will, no doubt, keep him safe."

"Aye," Jack admitted, with some difficulty. "Owens… Owens wouldn't let him come to harm. We have to go."

Juana put her hands out, taking each unhappy parent by an arm. "I will not tell you not to worry, for that would be an absurdity. But you must trust in God, and know that we will do all we can to find Tom and keep him safe."

Don Alejandro nodded, and said quickly and quietly, "After your escort falls behind, circle back under cover of night. There are many inlets and small bays along the coast nearby where the _Black Pearl_ can be hidden. We will keep your son safe at our house until you come for him."

Jack nodded. "I thank you, both. For everything."

"Yes. Thank you." Harry had embraced Juana, squeezing her eyes closed and biting her lip.

Just as she was doing now, an hour later, as the _Black Pearl_ made its way from the harbor.

She wondered vaguely what Jack was doing. He had said very little on the way back to the ship, though he had encouraged her patiently in climbing the Jacob's Ladder up the side. Once they were safe aboard, he had barked out a series of orders, and then disappeared below. That was some time ago, now, and Harry decided she might as well see what he was doing.

But as she turned away and started across the deck, the companionway doors opened and he emerged, resplendent in the garb of a buccaneer. The kohl around his eyes had been reapplied; there was already a carefully trimmed dark shadow of facial hair along his upper lip and jawline; and Alphonse had even begun to braid some of the trinkets back into his hair. Harry could not help but laugh for joy, clapping her hands together at the sight of him, and her heart swelled as he turned to her with an answering smile, and a light in his eye.

He strode over to her, and took her hands. "Better, eh?"

"Much better," she agreed.

He bent and kissed her bruised cheek again, and then gave her hands a squeeze. "It'll be fine, lass. You'll see. We'll have them back in no time."

**o-o-o**

The _Black Pearl_ sailed slowly southwest, dogged by two Spanish sloops that had been sent to ensure her departure from the area.

"Bloody hell, I'd like to blow the bastards out o' the water!" Jack exclaimed, late in the afternoon, when he and Harry emerged from below, after a long, refreshing, and much needed post-luncheon nap. "Don't they know it's time to leave off and let us go about our business?"

"They are certainly most annoying," Harry agreed.

"Probably think we're laggards, too, when the _Pearl_ could sail circles around them."

Gibbs smiled at Jack's grumbling. "Well, we could show 'em our heels, but we'd have that much farther to sail back for the wee _malvado_, now, wouldn't we?"

Jack scowled, and said to Harry, "You're certain I can't cane 'im, love?"

Harry rolled her eyes. "You know he would not have gone with Michael without good reason. But if you find that it isn't so… well, you will do as you think best. But… but don't _hurt_ him!"

Jack and Gibbs both laughed at that, and Jack slipped an arm about her waist, drew her close, kissed her soundly, and said, "Y'know, you're dead soft for a pirate's wench."

She smiled up at him. "I know. Fortunately I possess assets that offset even such a failing as that!"

"That you do," he agreed. Keeping his arm about her, he looked out once more at their persistent escort and the now distant coast. "As it happens, you're likely right. Owens must've had his reasons, both for takin' the lad and not bein' straight with you, Josh."

"Aye," Gibbs growled, "though it still grates that 'e weren't. I'll be havin' a few words with the lad when next we meet. After we have 'em safe, that is."

"May it soon come to pass!" Harry said.

"Amen!" agreed Gibbs.

**o-o-o**

At dusk, the Spanish sloops finally came about and headed back toward Santiago. Jack ordered the _Pearl_ slowed even further, but waited until full dark to give the order for which he and the whole crew had been waiting.

"All right, you scurvy dogs! Bring 'er in irons and get those white sails off 'er, _now!_"

A cheer went up, and his men swarmed up the ratlines, climbing into the starry night, eager to do their Captain's bidding. There was not a man among them reluctant to return to Cuba for Tom Sparrow and Michael Owens, and Charles Norrington as well, if need be. They'd watched the latter two grow from skittery boys to fine young men; and Tom was something of a talisman among them, a worthy heir to their celebrated Captain.

An hour later, the _Pearl_ had come about, too, and was well underway, aided by a light but steady breeze that polished the stars and played with the wispy curls 'round Harry's face. She stood on the quarterdeck with Jack as he manned the helm, guiding his _Pearl_ toward a coastal town near Santiago that was known to him: Seboney.

Harry, who had watched him pore over his charts before lunch and pinpoint the place, was more than a little concerned that the town was nearly twenty miles from Santiago.

"Aye, that's true – but the road's well kept: not a bad ride, at all, and far enough from Santiago for the _Pearl's_ safety."

"Ride? Will you be able to acquire a horse?"

"Aye. That's the best part. I've done some smuggling in the area, and one of me best customers has a rancho overlooking the coast! I'm fairly certain he'll loan me a horse and trappings for it, or let me buy 'em. I'll take some blunt, just in case. I'd rather not steal one: it'd be a bit inconvenient bein' a wanted man at the beginning and the end of the journey, both."

Harry frowned. "But you haven't ridden in months! It won't be very comfortable for you."

"Don't I bloody know it!" he growled. "I'm like to be crippled. That boy of yours will have a lot to answer for. And Michael Owens, too!"

**o-o-o**

Don Antonio Gomez, owner of a neat little rancho on the coast of Cuba near Saboney, was sitting on his veranda, indulging in a light _desayuno_ and looking over the newspaper and his personal correspondence, which he'd brought from Santiago the previous day. He had just taken a sip of the delicious coffee his plump and pretty housekeeper, Margarita, had brought him when there came from behind him the distinctive sound of a pistol being cocked, causing him to inhale a portion of the beverage, and precipitating a violent fit of choking.

He managed to set the cup down without breaking it, but before he could turn, a familiar, though seldom heard voice came to his ears – "Antonio, lad, no! I didn't mean it!" -- and his back was pounded with painful enthusiasm.

"J-Jack Sparrow!" he finally managed. "You… you _villain!_ What are you doing here?"

"Just droppin' in to visit me old friend, Tony," Jack said, leaving off the pounding and insinuating himself into a chair opposite his host. "Margarita make those?" He reached out to take one of three tasty-looking pastries that were attractively disposed on a plate of fine china, only to have his hand sharply slapped. "Ow!"

"Mine, you pirate!" said Don Antonio. "You may not!"

"Not?" Jack pouted. "Is this your famous Spanish hospitality, then?"

Don Antonio pursed his lips in a show of disapproval, then called sharply, "_Margarita! Margarita! Aquí!_"

There sounded a bustling from within the house. "_Si, Don Antonio… Qué…_" But her query was cut short as she emerged onto the veranda. "_Juan Gorrión!_ Ah! You adorable scoundrel!"

Jack stood and allowed himself to be clasped to Margarita's substantial bosom. Released, he gave her a buss on her round cheek. "Well met, my one true love. But tell me: are there more of those pastries, and perhaps some coffee? I'm devilish sharp set!"

"I will bring them immediately! Ah, you are so thin. Your wife, she does not take care of you as she should. I will only be a moment. Sit you down, and Don Antonio will keep you company until I return with your repast."

Don Antonio, whose person showed clear evidence of Margarita's skills as a cook, shook his head as his unexpected guest resumed his seat. "_Sí._ This wife of yours. She seems to have gained some notoriety, and most assuredly not because of her cooking!"

"Notoriety?" Jack frowned.

Don Antonio lowered his voice. "I was in Santiago just yesterday, my friend. I do not know what business you thought to conduct during that summit, but you and your lively spouse have not been at all discreet."

"We were plenty discreet, Tony. Just met up with someone from me chequered past."

"Which disrupted your chequered present to a nicety. I know, you see. The incident at the reception and your subsequent departure from Santiago was much discussed among my associates yesterday. The gravity of the conjecture makes me wonder all the more why you have turned up on my veranda this fine morning."

"Why, so I can borrow a horse from you and return to that fair city, of course."

Don Antonio stared. He was not deceived by Jack's offhand tone: there were weighty matters afoot, though the pirate chose to make light of the risks. Finally he said, "I will not say you are a fool, for I know you of old and you will have your purposes. But I will say this: if Esparza again lays hold of you, you will not leave _El Morro_ alive, and your final days there will be most unpleasant."

Jack sighed. "Wasn't a bed of roses night before last. But what exactly did you hear?"

"The tale of the reception was the amusing part. There is a more serious rumor – just a whisper, now, though it will grow in volume: the cup of the Saint has been stolen from the Cathedral."

"Really!" Jack exclaimed, then realized he'd used too bright a tone and cleared his throat. "I mean… most unfortunate. But perhaps it's just that: a rumor."

Don Antonio shook his head. "Ah, my friend! You know something of this, I think, and I tell you: you play with fire! Do you not realize the fortune Esparza and the church have made since the cup was put on display? Neither will take kindly to a disruption of those proceeds. And the rumor not only speaks of its theft, but also places the blame at your door, though why I cannot say. Merely a coincidence, I had thought -- but perhaps not, eh?"

At this point, Margarita returned with Jack's breakfast, and he flirted briefly with her as she laid it out for him, and suffered a teasing pinch to his cheek before she retired once more to the house.

He rubbed his cheek, and picked up a pastry, contemplating the sight of its golden flakiness. "Well, Tony," he said slowly. "I won't say you're entirely off the mark, though I didn't take it myself. I'm here for another reason entirely." Watching his host's reaction to his words, he took a bite out of the pastry.

Don Antonio shook his head again, and laughed ruefully. "Oh, my friend. You _are_ playing with fire. Tell me then a little more, and what else I may do to help you – most preferably without being burned myself!"

**o-o-o-o-o **


	14. Flight of Sparrows

**_Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St. Francis_**

**Chapter Twelve: _Flight of Sparrows_**

"_Tomas_!" Juana said firmly, though she laid a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "It is nearly midnight! You must go to bed now, I think. We will wake you, if your father comes."

Tom looked up from the card table where he and Owens were playing Snap. His eyes were heavy, more with fading hope than fatigue, but still he begged, "Please ma'am, just a few more minutes. He… we're not done with our game!"

Juana smiled, sadly. She brushed back a lock of his dark hair, from where it had fallen across his forehead. "Very well. But only until the game is over, little one."

Hours before, her husband had come home from a morning visit to the city with distressing news which he had relayed to her, and to Owens, Charles, and Lucia.

"It seems that the roads are being watched. There is talk of the Chalice having gone missing, though Esparza is trying to scotch that rumor. But besides that, I believe Lucia's absence has stirred the coals even more. And both incidents have been connected with the Sparrows and their expulsion from the city."

"But the Captain was locked up at the time!" Owens had exclaimed in dismay.

"True, but they still believe him to be behind it. Because of the dark lantern."

"No!"

"I fear it is so. It seems that its design is of a sort peculiar to the English, and known to be carried on English ships. It is most unfortunate that it was left inside the sepulcher. Though Jack Sparrow is cast from the city, it is suspected that his agents are still at large here, along with the cup, for as you say, he could not be in two places at once."

Owens had been stunned at this news. When he finally found his voice, he exclaimed, "For the Lord's sake, don't tell Tom! He felt so bad about it… wanted to go back down there for it, but I wouldn't let him! Good God." He looked at his friends and said, ruefully. "I've made a right mess of things, haven't I?"

But Don Corozón shook his head. "You did the best you could, Miguel. But the Fates have conspired against you, to some extent. Do not give up hope. I think it is well I made an appearance in town today, for besides gathering information, I believe I have warded off suspicion that you are yet in residence here. We have only to wait until your Captain arrives, which he will doubtless manage, in spite of Esparza's vigilance. Jack Sparrow is a man of parts. All will be well."

This was nebulous assurance, and though Owens had put a brave face on it, for Tom's sake, one could see that he was badly shaken.

The previous morning, when Tom, Owens, Charles, and Lucia had stood stunned at the sight of the _Black Pearl_ sailing out of the harbor, the latter three had known immediately that their worst fears had been realized.

Tom, less informed than the others, had shown a moment of panic. "Michael… is Da that angry? D'you think he's leavin' us behind?"

The fear in the boy's voice had roused Owens like a dash of cold water. "Of course not, Tom," he said, rather severely. "Shame on you for even considering that he'd do such a thing! No… we were afraid something might happen at the reception. Remember when I told you we might not get another chance to get the cup? There was someone there at that reception, someone from his past. They maybe made trouble for him – so much that he had to leave town! But he'll be back for us: no need to worry about that. Come on. Let's get back to the Corozóns'. They were at the reception, too, and will know what's gone amiss, and what we should do."

Charles had agreed, and had given Lucia an encouraging squeeze, for she was looking a little pale, and did not speak herself.

As it happened, the Corozóns' coach had arrived at the estate as the party of young people was approaching the house. Owens had ordered his co-conspirators to keep to the shadows of the shrubbery along the drive as a precautionary measure, for he was a little uncertain of their reception. But Juana, Don Alejandro, and Norrington had been on the watch for them for the last mile up to the house, and were greatly relieved to spot them. The four were soon being hustled into the house amid much scolding and exclamation.

Juana had given sharp directives to her staff, first that none should speak of the presence of the children to any outsiders, and next that breakfast should be served as soon as could be managed, for there was no use in any of them starving. Then she went to Tom, who was looking most forlorn as Owens and Charles tried to explain matters to Don Alejandro and the disapproving Norrington.

"_Ah, mi amor!_" she said, giving the little boy a hug. "How glad your mother and father will be to know you are safe! Your father will be back for you, as soon as he can arrange it, and in the meantime you will stay here, where I can pet and spoil you!"

Tom said nothing, and pressed his lips together, to stop their quivering. He reached into his pocket and drew out the object that had caused so much havoc among them all.

Juana's eyes opened very wide. "_Tomas!_ The cup! Is this it? You have succeeded?"

Tom nodded, and tried to speak, but the accusing tones of the Admiral and Don Corozón, coming on top of the fear and excitement of the last few hours were too much for the tired little boy. His resolve gave way on a sob, and Juana gathered him against her, and then picked him up when he clung to her.

"Oh, no! My poor darling! And you have done such brave work this night. Hush, now." She looked over his shoulder and fixed a flashing eye on her husband, and on Norrington. "You two will be silent, if you please!" she said, sharply. "This one – all four of them, in truth, have been through enough, and you see that they have accomplished their purpose. They should be commended, not berated!"

"Thank you, Doña," said Owens quietly, removing the cup from Tom's slackening grasp, and patting his back, comfortingly.

Don Alejandro smiled sadly, and even Norrington had the grace to look a little abashed. Everyone followed Juana, who was still carrying Tom, into the morning room where breakfast was being laid out.

Tom's tears were soon dried, and he was seated in a place of honor: a big, elaborately woven wicker chair cushioned with several bright pillows. After providing him a plate of food and a deliciously cool drink, Juana sat by him, as though guarding him, and took charge of the conversation, directing it with consideration for his shaken sensibilities.

Lucia, too, was happier for Juana's insistence on tact and calm discussion. Her presence having been explained ("Esparza's son!" Juana had exclaimed. "Ah, you were very right to come to us! He is a dreadful young man, and a most unsuitable match."), Norrington agreed that Charles might stay with the Corozóns, and leave with the others on Jack's arrival.

"There is no doubt Jack will return as soon as may be. He and Harry were quite dismayed to find that Tom was not aboard the _Black Pearl_, although they did realize you must have had good reason for taking him, even in so clandestine a fashion."

Owens protested wearily, "Sir! There wasn't time to argue with Mr. Gibbs. I was that vexed when he caught us as we were leaving the ship, for we needed to hurry and there was no time to explain it properly. I was hopin' I could get Tom and the cup back to the _Pearl_ before he was missed, but it all took so much longer than we'd planned."

"Yes," said Norrington. "That is often the way of things. But do not be concerned. Your decision was based on sound reasoning, and you have succeeded in your quest, even if it was at the expense of Tom's obedience and safety, and your Captain's peace of mind. I daresay he will forgive the two of you."

"Of course he will," said Juana.

"Will he come for us soon?" Tom asked, hopefully. "Tonight?"

"No," said Norrington. "They are sending ships to follow the _Black Pearl_, to make certain it leaves Spanish waters. When they leave off, the _Pearl_ will need to sail back, and find a safe anchorage away from Santiago. It is likely to be some distance for him to travel. Even if he somehow acquires a horse, I would not expect to see him until late tomorrow. You must be patient. The Corozóns have offered you their hospitality. Stay hidden and rest while you may, but be prepared to depart quickly when he does arrive."

Tom had scowled at these words, for patience was not among his signal virtues. Juana had then told him that all would look brighter after he had slept, and she would now show him to his room and tuck him in herself. But Tom only scowled more at this, for he had the greatest dislike of retiring during daylight hours. "I can't sleep! It's _morning!_" he whined. "And naps are for _babies!_"

Don Alejandro had smiled at this evidence that Tom Sparrow was not so unusual a little boy after all, but Norrington had frowned, and would have taken Tom to task if Juana had not stepped into the breech. She threw a quelling glance at the Admiral, and commiserated with Tom, agreeing that it was most annoying to be forced to waste a perfectly beautiful day in sleep, even if one had been awake most of the night; however, if Tom would but come see the beautiful room that was prepared for him, and lay down for a little, just for form's sake, she would read him a wonderful story with which he could entertain his father on the ride back to the _Black Pearl_. Tom acquiesced to this scheme, bidding Norrington goodbye, and assuring the others he would rejoin them presently.

In the event, he'd fallen asleep within five minutes of laying his head to the pillow, and had slept for most of the day. As a result of this, he was easily able to remain wide-awake until past midnight on both his first evening with the Corozóns and on this, his second.

"Y'know, Tom", said Owens, casually, looking over his cards, "it may be we won't see your Da until tomorrow night. Or even the day after. There's no use stayin' up 'til all hours waitin' for 'im. Like the Admiral told you, you'll like to be well rested and ready to go when he does come."

"He's going to come for us tonight. I know it," said Tom, stubbornly.

"You said that last night."

"Aye. But tonight he really will!"

Owens sighed, and exchanged a rueful glance with Juana.

But ten minutes later, Tom's prediction proved accurate.

The door to the drawing room opened, and Don Alejandro came in, smiling and saying to the company: "Look who I've brought you!"

The cards went flying as Captain Jack Sparrow followed Don Alejandro into the room.

Juana gasped to see Jack, looking even more wonderfully piratical than he had of old. His clothing was similar, but richer: big, bucket boots of fine leather; breeches of a soft, dark material that fit just a little closer than was seemly; a long, black waistcoat embroidered in silver thread, covering a loose shirt of fine linen (open at the neck both for coolness, and to reveal a glimpse of smooth, bronzed chest) and topped by a froth of colorful sash at his trim waist; a swaying frockcoat, large enough to cover an assortment of weaponry; and the faded red scarf (_it cannot be the same one, surely!_) topped by a rather battered, but nevertheless stylish tricorn. His person was well-groomed, thanks in part, Juana knew, to his valet, Alphonse. The dark hair was longer, and braided, rather than matted, and more full of fascinating memorabilia; and the shadow of facial hair, and the kohl surrounding his expressive eyes all added to his exotic and marvelously rakish appearance.

Juana tore her eyes away from Jack to see what effect this vision was having on Lucia, who had been seated on the sofa, conversing with Charles Norrington all the evening. As Juana had expected, the two had risen abruptly, and the girl was gaping in awe, to Charles's apparent amusement.

"Da! Da, you've come for us!" Tom cried joyously. Quite forgetting that his father might be angry with him, the little boy ran to embrace him.

And was not disappointed. Jack's brow cleared of worry at the sight of his son. He gave a gold and ivory grin at the scamp and opened his arms as Tom tore across the room. A lesser man might have been bowled over by such enthusiasm, but Jack was prepared, and caught Tom up, hugging him close.

"I told 'em you'd come tonight," Tom said, hugging back.

Jack laughed. "And you were right, too. Miscreant brat! Your mother and I were nigh dead with worry. Why'd you do it, eh?" He gave him a little shake, and kissed him.

Tom pushed away a little, and rummaged in his pocket. "For this!" he said, proudly, and held up the sturdy little cup, which he had been allowed to keep against this moment: the Chalice of St. Francis.

Jack gave an exaggerated start, and opened his kohl-lined eyes very wide. "You got it? Is this it, then?"

"Aye! They couldn't've done it without me, Owens says."

"It's true, Captain," Owens said, smiling but looking a little uncertainly at Jack. "Tom got it, easy, but none of us others would have fit the hole he had to go through to get into that room. And we knew it might be our only chance: Lucia here, she's the niece of the Mayor of Santo Cristobal and his wife, and she told us they'd be at that reception. We were afraid they'd recognize you."

"And they did, too," said Jack, with a grimace. "At least the señora did." He turned to Juana. "Did you tell 'em all what happened?"

"_Sí_!" said Juana, coming forward. "How is Harry's bruise?"

"It'll be a while healing. It'll be quite amusing, hearin' what old Weatherby has to say about it. That's her brother, the Governor, you know."

Juana nodded. "She told me – and that they do not always see eye to eye!"

Jack laughed. "They scrap like cats an' dogs. It's as well she lives four days sail from Port Royal most of the time." Jack set Tom down, but took the cup from him, to examine it more closely. "Not much, is it? And all this trouble for it." He looked at the four youngsters. "We'll need to get going. Don Corozón has agreed to lend us horses, and to stable the animal I borrowed from Don Antonio Gomez."

"Don Antonio! I remember him!" said Owens. "So the _Pearl's_ anchored at Seboney?"

"It will be, by the time we get there. Seboney's too close to Santiago, so I sent the her off to an inlet further east, away from any towns. She'll return for us, just before dawn. We've some riding ahead of us: it's near twenty-five miles by the back way Don Antonio told me about, and the road ain't that easy."

Don Alejandro said, "You will be careful, even so, my friend. Four horses are far more conspicuous than one, and Esparza is very unhappy with the loss of the Chalice, and of his friend's niece as well."

Jack turned to Lucia, who colored charmingly, and then reddened even further as the dark eyes swept over her appreciatively. But then Jack bowed, gracefully, and said, in Spanish, "It is a great pleasure to meet you, Señorita Fuensantos. We owe you deep thanks for all your help in regaining the Chalice. But are you quite sure you wish to begin a new life, among a foreign people? It may not be easy."

But Tom said, in English, "It'll be easy, Da! She and Charles'll be gettin' married!"

Charles gave a startled laugh, though he didn't appear to disagree in the least, and Jack's brows rose.

Lucia frowned in confusion, and Juana, smiling, said to her, "Tomas says there will be no difficulty as you will marry Charles."

"Oh!" Lucia said, and put her hands against her burning cheeks, "I… oh, Tomas! You must not say such things. He… he has not asked me."

"He will. Don't worry," said Tom, blithely, quite oblivious to her discomfort. He turned to his father. "Can we go now, Da?"

"Aye. Are you all ready?" Jack looked at each of them, and each replied in the affirmative, Charles taking Lucia's hand in his. "Then we'll take our leave. Don Alejandro: I thank you, from the bottom of me black heart. Don't know as I'll be able to repay you for all you've done."

Don Alejandro smiled. "When you return from Italy, send word. We will come to you, to see your wife's island, and you may show us your English hospitality."

"That we will!" said Jack. "I'll look forward to it." He turned to Juana, and his eyes grew soft. "_Mi Querida!_"

"_Ah, Malvado!_" She came to him, and put her hand up to caress his cheek. "I told you once I would not forget you, and you see what has become of that promise."

He took her hand, and kissed it, reverently. "I do see. And how glad I am that Don Alejandro has proven worthy of his treasure. It is well."

"Well, indeed, my friend." Juana took back her hand, and blinked away tears. "Go now, and be safe. Ah! How I will miss you! And your wife, who is also my friend."

"And me!" said Tom, tugging at her skirt.

Juana laughed, though her tears. "And you, _Tomas Gorrión!_" she said, and, pulling him close, gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

**o-o-o**

They rode off, up into the hills, skirting behind Don Alejandro's property and out around the city, taking care to go slowly and quietly when passing any habitation. Owens, Charles, and Lucia each had a horse of their own, and Jack was pleased to see that Lucia was a most proficient rider. Juana had given one of her own riding habits to the girl, and Lucia was vastly pleased with it, showing a little more confidence in herself, and conversing more easily.

"Ah, it is good to be on a horse again!" she exclaimed. "I have not ridden much since I left Spain, many months ago. But one does not forget."

"No, more's the pity," Jack groused.

"You do not enjoy riding, Capitan?"

"No! Haven't ridden more than a few miles in a good many years. My wife and I go on short jaunts about the island, when I'm staying on St. Claire. Mostly to get away from the Imp, here, for a few hours. Fifty miles in a night is far too much: I'll be moving like an old man tomorrow!"

"Don't worry, Da!" said Tom, from where he sat perched before his father on the horse. "You can stay abed with Mama tomorrow, and Owens and I will take over the ship."

"Why, thanks, son. Might take you up on that, though I suspect Gibbs'll have something to say about the new chain of command."

Owens said, "D'you think he'll still be riled I didn't tell him… the _whole_ truth?"

Jack shrugged. "He'll get over it. Happens I think you were right: he would've forbidden you to take Tom on such a venture."

"And then we wouldn't've got the Chalice!" Tom pointed out.

"No, likely not, all things considered. You came through safe, so everything's worked out for the best. We've put a bad dent in Esparza's coffers with the theft of that cup; and there's Lucia here: her aunt an' uncle, and Esparza and his son will all be in a snit over her defection. But if young Esparza's anything like his father, we're doing the lass a very good turn."

Delighted with these thoughts, Jack quickened the pace. He was looking forward to the end of the ride with most pleasurable anticipation, for they would stop at Don Antonio's hacienda, and he would surely rejoice in the good news. Tony had agreed to keep any horses Don Alejandro might loan the party until an exchange could be arranged, and Jack had promised him two cases of the finest St. Claire rum as a gift of thanks.

The night wore on, the moonlight and starlight barely adequate to keep the party to the road. The hills around Santiago were thick with trees and other vegetation, and the frequent rains made the roads treacherous and the going slower than Jack would have liked.

Tom began to nod off, after a while, and Jack held him close as they rode through the dark, his heart swelling with love of his boy, and with fatherly pride. He knew, from what Don Alejandro and Owens had told him, that Tom had been torn about leaving the ship against orders, and had made the decision after careful thought. One couldn't ask for better than that. He was a fine lad, Tom was, high-spirited, but with a good head on his shoulders. Jack would no doubt hear every detail of his adventure several times over, once they were back aboard the _Black Pearl_.

They made two stops along the way to water and rest the horses, but kept going at a good clip (or as good as could be managed) the remainder of the time. It was the hour before dawn when they came up on the last village before Seboney and the coast. Jack led them quietly off the road, and around the perimeter of the village, for people might be stirring even at that hour. In fact, he mused, by the time they reached Tony's hacienda it would be near breakfast time – Margarita might be up and baking, even now!

A little past the village, the horses turned onto the road again. They were making good speed, and were about a quarter mile away --on the home stretch at last! Jack was thinking again how good it would be to get out of the saddle when Owens, who'd been bringing up the rear, surged ahead to come up with his Captain.

"Horsemen in back of us!" he said shortly.

Jack whipped around, eyes narrowed to the gloom, listening hard. He muttered an oath, then barked, "We may've been spotted. We'll have to give Don Antonio the go-by and hotfoot it to the bay. Let's go!"

They kicked up their tired horses, which obliged them with a canter. The moon had set, but the glow of the coming dawn increased, and gave them enough pale light to prevent mishaps. Unfortunately, it also aided their pursuers, who were already familiar with the road. Their enemies were gaining, and looking back Jack finally caught sight of them, and recognized the uniforms: soldiers from _El Morro_.

"Faster!" Jack yelled. "Down to the bay!"

It was all down hill, and the horses gained speed as they went. Steeds and riders both were on the edge of panic as they swept past the gate to Don Antonio's hacienda, and onward, toward the coast. The road flattened out at last, and Jack urged them to even greater speed. Another quarter mile, and suddenly the road ended, coming out from between two high ridges onto a wide beach.

"Boat's over there!" He pointed to a group of rocks on one side of the bay.

The loose sand slowed the horses some, but they kept on, and at last Jack judged they were close enough. He hauled back on the reins, and the others followed suit. Owens leapt from his horse, and came to drag Tom from the saddle so Jack could dismount.

"Run for the boat, Tom!"

"We're right behind you."

Charles had helped Lucia down, and they, too, ran, coming up with Tom.

Jack and Owens yelled, shooing the horses, and then Jack was barking, "Come on! Leave 'em!" when shots rang out in the still morning air. Sand was kicked up to either side of them, and then Owens made an odd sound as his body gave a sudden twisting jerk and he fell.

"_No!_" Jack was beside him in a flash, but Owens was blinking and looking stunned, and began trying to struggle to his feet. Refusing to think about the charred hole in the shoulder of the boy's coat, Jack helped him, and then Charles was there, on his other side. Time seemed to have slowed in the strangest way, though in reality it was mere seconds before they had Owens up and were half running, half dragging him along between them.

More shots rang out, one hitting a rock as they reached the outcrop, sending a shower of chips flying, but they paid no heed and scrambled to the boat, which, thankfully, was floating in several inches of water: the tide was coming in.

Tom and Lucia had already climbed aboard, and were looking at the three men in dismay. "Get down! Down!" Jack roared at the two. They obeyed, immediately, and made room for Owens. Jack and Charles shoved the young man over the side and into the boat, where he collapsed, groaning.

Jack turned and jerked on the end of the rope that held the boat, freeing the knot, and then he and Charles were pushing for all they were worth. The vessel slid out into the water. Charles scrambled in, and, after a few more seconds, Jack followed.

There were more shots, and Jack swore, grabbed the pistol from his sash, took aim, and fired back at the soldiers. To good effect: there was a distant cry of pain, and the shooting stopped. "Winged 'im, begad!" Jack said happily. "You're revenged boy."

But Owens did not reply as Jack and Charles took up the oars.

They had just got the boat turned, and were putting their backs into it, when Tom suddenly pointed. "The _Black Pearl_! She's comin,' Michael!"

Jack glanced back over his shoulder, and caught the glorious sight of his ship, rounding the point and heading into the bay. He turned back to Michael, and muttered an oath – or a prayer. The boy was shaking, and deathly pale, lying back against Lucia who was using the sash from her riding habit in an attempt to staunch the wound. It looked to be in his shoulder, or high up on his chest at least, and though his breathing was raspy, and there might be blood on his lips, Jack smiled encouragement. "Aye, she's comin', lad, 'round the headland there. Hold tight, and we'll have you aboard and safe in no time! We're almost home. "

**o-o-o-o-o**


	15. Tales of Wonder

**Chapter Thirteen: _Tales of Wonder_**

Will Turner plunged the red-hot metal into the water, and the resulting hiss and billowing cloud of steam prevented him from noting that a visitor had entered the smithy. He was therefore pleasantly startled when he held up the cooled piece and his wife's voice said from behind him, "Beautiful."

He turned to find her there, an odd half-smile on her lips. "Elizabeth!" He glanced at the creation in his hand. "It's only a new scythe, for your father's gardener."

"Oh, yes. It's very nice. But I meant you." Her eyes swept over his shirtless form appreciatively, and she grinned as he laughed and bent to kiss her.

"Careful," he said, his voice soft. "If you play with fire you're like to be…"

"Burned? Mmmm…!"

He chuckled. "Covered in grime and sweat, more like." He wiped his brow. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to tell you: the _Black Pearl _ is approaching the harbor."

His brows rose. "Do you think…?"

She nodded. "Will you go down to the docks with me?"

"Of course."

"And we must tell Maggie. Father was just getting dressed. He'll meet us there."

"Yes. Let me get cleaned up."

Will had a quick wash, under Elizabeth's approving eye, then put on a clean shirt and his waistcoat, and caught his dark hair back with a leather thong. "Let's go."

**o-o-o**

Maggie and Nurse Maria had just put the twins down for their morning nap when Suzanna came rushing into the room. Both women turned quickly and waved her off, frowning, each putting a finger to lips.

"Mother!" Suzanna whispered. "The _Black Pearl _ is coming! They're home!"

Maggie and Nurse exchanged a startled look. Nurse said, very low, "You go. I'll watch them."

Five minutes later, Maggie and Suzanna came quietly down the stairs. The Turners were in the entry hall, waiting.

"Elizabeth!" said Maggie. "It's only been a little over a week! Do you think something went amiss? Even if they obtained the Chalice so quickly, the summit has barely begun."

"There's no way of knowing, Maggie," said Elizabeth, sensibly, "so let's go down to the harbor and see!"

There was a sudden sound of pounding feet and the front door flew open. "Mama! Mama!" Julietta and Anne came roaring into the house. Julietta cried, "The _Black Pearl _ is coming!" And Anne hopped up and down, clapping her hands and chanting, "Tom is here! Tom is here!"

"Hush, girls! The twins!" said their mother.

"Ah, yes: Tom!" said Will, his voice a little grim.

Anne turned to Will with a frightened gasp, suddenly reminded of the circumstances surrounding her playmate's departure, but her mother said to her, "Tom is undoubtedly in excellent health and spirits, Anne."

"More excellent than he deserves, like as not!" chuckled Elizabeth. "Let's away! They're coming in!"

**o-o-o**

Suzanna Norrington stood between her mother and Elizabeth Turner and tried to at least I _appear _ calm as she scanned the various persons that were visible on and above the deck of the _Black Pearl_, which eased toward the dock. Governor Swann, various military and naval representatives, and a host of townsfolk had also gathered at the harbor, and it would not do to draw their attention by behaving in a too-revealing, ill-bred manner. There were already whispers circulating in Port Royal regarding her relationship with Michael Owens. So horridly embarrassing! And yet, she could not regret that clandestine meeting, or the kiss they'd exchanged. Indeed, her heart leapt whenever it came to mind, which was more often than was seemly. And she had wondered, too, if Michael had been similarly affected, and if he was thinking of her at the same moments.

" _Hullooo! Anne! I'm back! _" Tom Sparrow called from the rail, waving and grinning.

Anne squealed, "It's Tom! Mama! There he is!" She capered, tugging at Mother's skirt.

"Yes, sweetheart, I can see – and _hear_. It's apparent your worries were for naught."

Suzanna smiled distractedly. "But Mother," she said, in a low voice, "I… I don't see Mr. Owens."

"Perhaps his duties prevent him being on deck at present," her mother said, gently, though she too had noticed his absence. "I daresay we shall see him soon. Your father is absent, as well."

Suzanna flushed. "Oh! Oh, yes." How dreadful, not to have even thought of that! She gathered her composure, and forced herself to look at the other dear ones that could be seen. Captain Sparrow was at the wheel, trusting no other hand to guide his beloved ship into port. Lady Harry was not beside him this time, however. She and Charles were standing near the bouncing Tom, at the railing, and there was a stranger standing between them: a young lady! As they drew closer, Charles waved with his right arm, but his left was otherwise occupied.

"Mother!" Suzanna whispered, sharply. "Do you see Charles?"

It was obvious she did now, for her brows rose at the sight of her eldest with his arm about the waist of the stranger. "I wonder who she can be?" Mother said. "Lady Harry seems to be on very good terms with her."

Julietta had also taken note of the interesting tableau, and was far less reticent about expressing her considerable surprise. "Mother! Charles is hugging that girl!"

Mother pursed her lips, then said quietly but firmly, "He is merely providing a steadying hand as they come up to the dock, Julietta. And you will please keep such observations to yourself – or at least lower your voice!"

"Sorry," Julietta muttered, flushing. She turned to Suzanna and said, a little shyly, "I wonder where Mr. Owens may be?"

Suzanna, who knew her sister had been trying to make amends with her all week, bit back a sharp reply and said merely, "I don't know. I expect he will come topside presently."

This, however, did not prove to be the case, and Suzanna's concern increased as the _Black Pearl_ drifted to a stop, ropes were thrown and made fast, and the gangplank was lowered.

Tom Sparrow, last to board the ship in Port Royal, was first off on their return, fairly leaping down the gangplank toward the Turners and the Norringtons, and his uncle, all of whom were crowding near to greet the arrivals. "Well met, all!" Tom roared, and it was so obviously a phrase he'd got from his father that everyone laughed. He ran to Anne, who pounced on him, throwing her little arms about his neck, though he didn't seem to mind at all, but hugged her back and exclaimed, "I got it, Anne! Wait 'til you hear! I got the cup!"

"You?" said Governor Swann, giving the boy's shoulder a little shake. "What can you mean? Miscreant boy, answer me!"

Tom released Anne, though he retained hold of her hand, and she gazed up at him with unabashed worship in her eyes as he turned to his uncle. "It's true, Uncle Weatherby! They couldn't've done it without me! 'Twas in a dark, horrid chamber with _tombs_, under the altar of their church, and only I could fit in the hole to get it. It was beyond anything great! Come on, Anne!" And he turned and pulled the willing Anne back up the gangplank. His mother, Charles, and the unknown lady were descending at a more sedate pace, and he cried to the latter, "This is Anne, Lucia!" but did not pause to elaborate.

However, the center of attention shifted at the approach of the trio.

"Harry!" said the Governor, in shocked tones, and it was certainly no wonder: Lady Harry, though looking in fine fettle otherwise, had the most dreadful bruise just under her eye. It appeared to be a few days old, for the discoloration had taken on a greenish tinge, but there was no doubt there had been some accident, or she had been dealt a serious blow.

But before her brother could say more, Lady Harry snapped, "That will be all, Weatherby! A most disagreeable woman – Owens' former employer, in fact -- perpetrated my disfiguring injury. However, she received her just desserts, and I would greatly appreciate you sparing me any more useless comment, or recrimination, for I assure you, the incident was entirely unavoidable."

The Governor, whose shock had evolved to bemusement during the course of this speech, raised a brow, and said only, "Very well. You seem to be fit enough otherwise, and Jack will no doubt tell me the details."

"I daresay," agreed Harry, with a roll of her eyes. She turned to Suzanna's mother, smiling apologetically. "I'm afraid James is still in Santiago, Maggie. He is staying with the delegation from Barbados, and they will see him home after the summit is concluded. He was in excellent health and spirits when last we saw him, and sends his fondest regards to you and the children. But now I would like you – indeed, all of you! – to meet Señorita Lucia Delma Fuensantos, whose kind offices aided us in the recovery of the Chalice of St. Francis."

The ladies all curtsied politely. Will Turner bowed with a smile, and the Governor kissed the señorita's hand with stately grace. "Welcome to Port Royal and Jamaica, my dear," he said, and though the lady was uncertain of his words, she easily understood his kindly tone. She smiled tremulously, and said, "_Gracias_," in a soft, sweet voice.

She was a beautiful girl, Suzanna thought, nearly as tall as herself, though not as thin…or perhaps it appeared so because she seemed to be wearing one of Lady Harry's dresses. The length of the gown had been altered to accommodate the señorita's greater inches, but the bodice, though snug, had apparently been judged to fit well enough to please all but the most exacting.

To Suzanna's surprise, Charles gently turned Lucia to face his mother and sisters, and said quietly, "Mother… and Suzanna! I would ask you to make Señorita Fuensantos welcome. I have been hoping you would offer her a place to stay. Her future is not as uncertain as… well… in short, we have… come to an understanding."

Mother's eyes widened. "Charles!" she said, sounding surprised, but by no means displeased.

Julietta frowned. "An understanding? Do you mean…"

Charles cut her off. "Yes, Ju, but it is not to be announced just yet, if you please." He then looked straight at Suzanna, and gave a little smile. "What do you think, sister?"

Suzanna, who felt overwhelmed with not only this revelation, but also with her brother's rather shyly confiding demeanor, said, "Oh! Oh, yes! I… if you care for her so, she must be as beautiful within as she is without!" She took Lucia's hand, and smiled, and said in her hesitant Spanish, "You are most welcome here, Señorita Fuensantos! What a lovely name!"

"She'll not have the joy of it much longer," Charles said, as though imparting a secret, and grinned.

Suzanna laughed in delight; but then, as the news sank in, she remembered her own… attachment. "But Charles: I… is Michael Owens still on the ship? I… you are such good friends, I thought…" But she broke off, for Charles and Lady Harry had exchanged a Look, and suddenly her heart froze. "What is it? Is he all right?"

Lady Harry took her hand, which she had unconsciously held up. "He is well, my dear. Or will be. But he was grievously hurt in the escape three nights ago. Alphonse is with him, helping him dress, and we hope to transport him to my brother's house in a little while. You will not mind, Weatherby?"

"Of course not," the Governor frowned. "But what happened?"

Charles said, rather gently, and with his eyes on Suzanna's face, "He was shot by one of the soldiers of Esparza's garrison. A chest wound. It was deep, and at first we thought… but he is better! Against all our fears. It is… something of a mystery. But indeed Suzanna, he will recover. If you'd like to see him, I'll take you to him."

Suzanna had felt almost faint with the tale that was being imparted to her, but at her brother's last words she straightened, willing herself to be calm. She took a deep breath and said firmly, "Yes. Oh, yes. Please take me to him."

**o-o-o**

"Monsieur Owens, you will please to sit down, before you _fall _ down!" Alphonse commanded, in a kind but firm tone.

"Yes, sir," Owens muttered, sitting on the edge of the cot rather abruptly, and rubbing his forehead.

_ Really_, Alphonse thought to himself, _the boy has no business being out of bed. _He had still some fever, and Alphonse suspected he was in considerable pain, though he was stoic about it, as always. All this activity would only make things worse. The wound looked well enough, but really had barely begun to heal. Two days ago they had thought him at death's door. That a miracle had occurred, and he was now out of danger, did not alter the fact that it would take time for him to recover from such an ordeal.

It was, of course, understandable that he wished to stay ashore, at the Governor's estate, for it would be far more comfortable than his tiny cabin on the _Pearl, _as well as allowing for more visitors.

Particularly one visitor.

"Michael! Are you decent?"

It was Charles Norrington. Owens raised his head, startled, and Alphonse stepped to his side, and set a light, restraining hand on his shoulder. The boy looked up at him, and Alphonse smiled. "It is well, Michael."

Owens nodded. His jaw clenched a little as he sat up straight; then he called, "Aye!"

The door opened, and there she was: slim and fair, her deep blue eyes vivid in a serious, pale, and very pretty face.

Owens drank in the sight of her, barely breathing, and did not seem to notice the quick grin her brother threw his way before Suzanna stepped into the cabin. Charles stayed out, and shut the door.

The girl stared at Michael, unsmiling, and Alphonse knew she must see the strain of long hours of worry and pain that were writ on the handsome face. The boy was yet shirtless, and the bindings of the wound were stark white against his tanned skin – except where a little blood had seeped through.

Alphonse frowned.

But Suzanna whispered, "Michael!" and Alphonse stepped aside, unheeded, as she came to sit beside her injured beloved. She put her arms gently 'round Michael's shoulders, and he turned to her, closing his eyes, and laid his forehead against hers for a long, still moment.

Finally they sat up a little, and she stroked the dark hair back from his brow. She said, "You are too warm. You should be abed!" She said to Alphonse. "Should he not, monsieur?"

Alphonse nodded. "_Oui, mademoiselle_. I have been thinking so, myself."

"I'll do," said Michael, to them both. "I'm better today than I was. Truly."

"Oh, my dear!" said Suzanna, her voice tremulous. She gave a sniff, but smiled, like an angel. "Very well." She turned to Alphonse. "May I help him with his shirt, monsieur?"

"But yes!" Alphonse replied, smiling, too.

They both helped him, in the end, very careful of the injury. Then Alphonse watched while Michael's Suzanna tenderly straightened the collar of his shirt, and fastened the ties with slim, steady fingers.

**o-o-o**.

As Suzanna and Charles boarded the ship, Jack passed them on his way down. He and Charles exchanged a smile; Suzanna, however, seemed barely aware of him as she swept by.

"Best medicine in the world, that!" Jack commented to the company that was gathered near the foot of the gangplank.

"Was Owens dreadfully hurt, Jack?" asked Elizabeth, worriedly, suspecting that Charles had purposely softened his words in consideration of his sister's sensibilities.

Jack's smile faded and he said, quietly, "We thought he was done! Thought it'd hit the lung. I could've sworn he was showin' signs of it. What with that, and… well, it looked bad. We didn't dare drug him too deep, an' it was a bit of a trial, gettin' that bullet out. He's a brave lad, though, our Michael. But afterwards… Gibbs was shakin' his head over it, and Harry and I…" His voice trailed off, remembering.

Harry came and slipped her hand into his. "It was dreadful. As Jack said, we did not expect him to live. But then… the next day…"

"He was better!" said Jack. He shook his head. "Couldn't fathom it at all, an' Gibbs started talkin' of miracles – you know what he is. But then Lucia here, an' Tom… well, the long an' short of it is, the two of 'em came to see Owens during the night, an' they'd given him a drink of water. From the cup." Jack reached into his pocket, and drew out the small wooden vessel.

"Cup? The Chalice?" Weatherby stared. "That's it?"

Jack laughed. "Aye. Not much, is it? Esparza'd made a pretty holder for it, of course, an' kept it in a fancy case, just as the padre said. But this is it. The saint was one for simplicity all right."

Weatherby gave a slight bark of laughter. "Obviously." He looked at Jack, sharply. "So you believe the water from the cup healed Michael Owens? That you were witness to a miracle?"

"No!" Jack exclaimed. "I mean… I suppose it could be. But, it's just as likely we were all mistaken, and the wound wasn't as bad as we'd thought. Lucia here, an' Tom, of course, swear it was the water from the cup that did it. It's anyone's guess. All I know is, he was sittin' up an' takin' some broth by the next night, and now Alphonse is gettin' him dressed to come to your place – with Suzanna's help, like as not." Jack grinned at Maggie.

Harry said to her brother, "Michael is still not at all well, Weatherby. He will need careful nursing, for a few days at least, but we will see to it. Your servants need not be inconvenienced."

Weatherby shook his head. "That's nothing, my dear. It's good for them to bestir themselves, and they've known Owens for years! He'll be devilish spoiled by the time he's ready to leave. But Jack!" Weatherby fixed him with an odd look. "When precisely did you acquire the Chalice?"

"When?" Jack thought back, frowning. "Five nights ago, it was. Owens and Charles got it – or Tom, really. Did he tell you? Lucia met them at the Cathedral and showed them the way."

"You see!" said Elizabeth to her father, triumphantly, and Will shook his head, in wonder.

Maggie was smiling, too, and Julietta said with conviction, "It _was _ a miracle!"

"What was?" demanded Jack, for they did not seem to be speaking of Owens.

"What do you mean?" Harry said, frowning.

Elizabeth said to them: "Aunt Harry… Jack… _Father Taddeo has regained his sight! _"

**o-o-o**

It was true. Or partially true, at any rate.

Michael Owens had appeared not long after this startling announcement. The lad was supported by Suzanna and Charles, and preceded by the raucous Tom, who was dragging little Anne about behind him. Everyone had fussed over Michael, and straightaway made him take a seat in Weatherby's well-sprung coach. Suzanna was allowed to sit beside him, and the Governor, Harry, and Jack climbed in, too. Everyone else piled into another of the carriages that Weatherby had ordered, and the conveyances moved off at a sedate pace, through Port Royal and on up the hill.

Jack refused to believe Elizabeth's words, until they arrived at the estate and were all of them ushered into the morning room. This room, though lined with windows through which the gardens were visible, was in cool shade at this time of day, and in the corner with the deepest shadows sat Father Taddeo, his legs and feet propped upon a hassock, and one eye still bandaged. His other eye, however, blinked and focused on the arrivals.

Jack, who was the only one among the group who had seen the precise extent of the injury to the eye, walked over and gaped at the padre in open astonishment. Harry came up beside him, and also stared, quite speechless.

"I see that your crew was correct," Father Taddeo said.

"Eh?" said Jack, intelligently. "About what?"

"That both of you are most beautiful, of course. But signora: you have taken a hurt!"

"Oh! Oh, yes." Harry rubbed the back of one finger against the bruise under her eye. "I know it looks dreadful, but it will heal and fade quick enough. A… a slight mishap, at a reception we attended."

"Ah!" The padre nodded, smiling.

"You can see!" Jack said, almost as though offended.

"Why, yes. Several mornings ago, when the wrappings were being changed, I discovered that I could see a little with this one eye, and that light had begun to penetrate through the other. My vision is still quite imperfect, but I have hope that it will continue to improve. It is something of a miracle."

Jack stiffened at that, and turned to Weatherby. "Several mornings ago?"

The Governor nodded. "The morning after you obtained the cup."

"Ah! The cup!" the padre exclaimed. "You have retrieved it?"

"Aye," said Jack, still knocked acock, but beginning to recover. "_Tom!_" Jack drew the cup from his pocket and held it out to his son. "Here. Give it to him, lad."

Tom grinned, and did so, saying, "Here, Father. That's it, isn't it?"

Father Taddeo nodded, smiling beatifically. "It is. It is, indeed." He examined it, running his fingers over the smooth wood with loving familiarity. Finally, he looked up at Tom. "Did _you _ get it for me?"

"Aye! And Lucia, here, showed us how, and Michael and Charles helped."

The padre turned to Tom's co-conspirators. Charles and Lucia stood side by side, next to where Owens had been pressed into a chair, with Suzanna standing behind, her hands placed lightly, but possessively, on his shoulders.

The padre frowned at Michael. "You have taken some hurt, my son?"

"Aye. But like you, I'm on the mend."

"Like me." Father Taddeo nodded, and looked at Jack, again, rather quizzically. "Another coincidence, perhaps, Captain Sparrow? What do you think, my friend?"

Jack shook his head, and laughed, softly. "Perhaps so, Father. I'm not sure I know what to think, any more."

**o-o-o**

Two weeks later, when Admiral Norrington returned and was put in possession of the facts, he could only agree with this assessment.

"It is not impossible that the incidents are valid miracles. After all, Jack, we both saw some very… _unusual events _during our first days together. The curse of the Aztec Gold was certainly real enough."

"Don't I bloody know it!" Jack muttered, with an inward shudder.

"Yes," Norrington agreed. "I can imagine that even your brief personal experience of it had lingering effects, if only on the tone of your mind."

"Ah! That's what it is!" Will Turner said, nodding sagely, and then grinning at the somewhat venomous look Jack threw him.

"A contributing factor, no doubt," said Norrington, amused. "But as to the matter at hand, it is just as possible that Owens' condition, and the injury to Father Taddeo's eyes, were neither one as serious as had been feared. As with many things in life, I doubt we will ever be entirely certain of the truth."

Jack nodded. "It's like the padre said, I suppose: it's a matter of faith."

"Indeed."

When pressed by his anxious children, Norrington also considered it a matter of faith that he was doing the right thing in giving his blessing to the marriages they proposed to enter into.

He said to Charles, "You are both very young, and besides that have not known each other for many days. Ordinarily I would say that it is too soon to think of such a thing. Yet I can see agreeable changes in you already, Charles, and I know that it is due in large part to your association with Lucia. Don Corozón tells me her family in Spain is of the true aristocracy, and that she is something of an heiress, though I would not rely on either of you ever seeing the proceeds. However, both you and Owens have been fortunate enough to acquire and set aside sufficient prize money to enable you to marry and support wives in comfort, if not luxury."

Charles grinned, then turned to Lucia and translated his father's words as best he could. He added, in regard to the last point, "Owens has saved more far more than I, I'm afraid. He's been privateering with Jack for years! But I have some of it tucked away, and I have my commission. My prospects are good, I believe."

"I do not care about that in the least!" Lucia said. "If I had wanted a life of great wealth I would never have left Spain, or would have consented to marriage with Emilio Esparza, of whom I know little, save rumor. It seems too nonsensical that it has happened so quickly, I know, but I love you, Charles. With all my heart!"

Charles lifted her hand to his lips, murmuring reverently, " _Mi Querida!_"

His father needed no help in interpreting the romantic tone of the exchange, and smiled, wryly, to see his sometimes devil-may-care son so tamed.

James was, strangely, more resigned and less worried about Suzanna, though she was younger. "Your mother and I have discussed the issue, in light of your long-standing attachment to Mr. Owens, and taking into consideration the invitation you've received to sail with the _Black Pearl _on her voyage to Italy, and England. You are young, but you have always had a most becoming gravity about you, and generally know your own mind. Mr. Owens, who seems most devoted to you, is a fine young man, and we feel he is worthy of even so great a prize as your own dear self."

Suzanna blushed at this unexpected accolade, but Owens smiled at her, fully agreeing with her father's words. He said to Norrington, "Thank you, sir! I will always strive to be worthy, and will take the greatest care of her."

"And I of you!" Suzanna said, stoutly.

Owens lifted Suzanna's hand to his lips, just has Charles had done with Lucia. Norrington gave the same wry smile, and said, "Yes, my dears. That sentiment _is_, of course, contained in the vows."

**o-o-o**

Some four weeks later, a double wedding uniting the two young couples took place in the garden of the Governor's estate. After some polite coercion, and bribery in the guise of a sizeable donation, Reverend Daniels agreed to allow Father Taddeo to share the duties of presiding, which greatly pleased the Catholic Lucia. Father Taddeo was easy enough with the idea, and smiled benignly on both couples, making the Sign of the Cross over them and intoning lengthy Latin prayers in a most impressive manner. The Reverend Daniels, however, pursed his lips at the unconventionality of the proceedings, and later, after a glass or two of wine, was heard to mutter darkly. Governor Swann, overhearing, took the man aside for a short but pithy chat, after which the cleric focused his attention on the excellence of the refreshments, rather than the validity of the ceremony as seen from the Anglican point of view.

It was a day of great joy, but clouded a little by sorrow, too, for two days hence the _Black Pearl _would set sail, to stop at St. Claire for a time before setting out east, across the Atlantic. Little Anne Norrington, in particular, was much torn. Young as she was, two years sounded like forever – why, she would be _seven _ when Tom returned! She was much afraid he would forget her entirely, though Tom vowed, impatiently, that this was nonsense.

"I tried to get 'em to let you go with us," Tom said, "but they weren't havin' it. Your mama says she needs you, and with Suzanna going she's likely right: can't rely on Julietta to help with the twins!"

Governor Swann, who had overheard this conversation, and whose kind heart was moved by Anne's obvious distress, put his arm about the girl and swept out his lace-edged handkerchief to daub at her tears. "There now, sweetheart: you and I shall keep each other company while Tom and the others are gone. Charles and Lucia will be staying in the little cottage across the garden there, taking care of it while my daughter and her husband are gone away, too. Lord, how I shall miss them! But it is past time for them to visit our family in England, and it will do them both good to see a little more of the world. But your brother and new sister will, no doubt, like us to visit them at the cottage, and when Charles is away at sea, as is his duty, Lucia will be very glad of our company! I daresay we will have many pleasant dinners together at such times."

"See, Anne? You won't even miss me!" said Tom, blithely, and was quite astonished when Anne began to sob.

Anne's mother had shed numerous tears too: happy ones, when she saw her Suzanna take her place beside Michael Owens, looking even more beautiful than was a bride's wont. And yet, the girl was so very young!

"Are you certain we are doing the right thing?" she had whispered to her husband.

James gave a sigh, and said only, "It is in God's hands, my dear. But I believe they will be happy together. I know you wished Suzanna to travel to Italy with the Sparrows, and considering that would throw her constantly in the way of Michael Owens it seems best that they marry now, under our eye, rather than later, where our support and blessing cannot be had."

Maggie nodded, but put her hand in his and said, a little tremulously, "Do you realize… we may be grandparents before they return, James?"

"Of course I realize it." James sighed. "As I said: it is in God's hands."

Father Taddeo, who much later was speaking with Harry, Elizabeth, Maggie and, particularly, Suzanna, echoed this sentiment. "Children are the greatest of all God's blessings, my dear. In His wisdom, He will care for you, and provide for your happiness."

Maggie smiled, and said to Suzanna, "Come, my dear: it is time to change into your traveling clothes." For the bride and her new husband were to spend their first night together at a beautiful little inn, a few miles up the coast.

Elizabeth and Harry watched, misty eyed, as mother and daughter put arms about each others' waists and walked down the hall to enter the room that had been allotted to Suzanna for this day, closing the door behind them.

Father Taddeo said, "It is well that the two of you will be there, in place of Suzanna's mother, for the long journey."

"Yes!" Elizabeth said, and smiled suddenly. "Oh, Aunt! Jack will have fits if she does get with child on the voyage!"

Harry chuckled. "I'm afraid so. I think he was longer recovering from Tom's birth than I!"

"And the so excellent Tom is the only child you have, between the two of you? It seems such a pity."

Both ladies turned to look at the padre, Elizabeth's smile fading away, and Harry's dimming considerably. Harry said, "We… both of us have tried, but… Elizabeth lost two, early in her marriage. And my baby girl…" Her voice constricted, and she could not go on.

"Ah, no, signora! I apologize for my curiosity. It is a great failing of mine, I know. My apologies to you both!"

Harry shook her head. "_He giveth, and He taketh away._ Are those not the words, my friend?"

"They are. And yet, it is also said, _Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life._" The padre smiled. "Perhaps the gaining of my desire is a sign that others may share good fortune. You are both young enough to try again, and moreover we now have the Chalice. Before you leave me in Italy, therefore, I will have you each drink from the Chalice, and we will pray. And we will hope."

**o-o-o-o-o **


	16. Where Your Treasure Is

**Chapter Fourteen: _Where Your Treasure Is_**

**_…for where your treasure is, there will be also your heart… _**

_Matthew 6:21_

_

* * *

_

Twenty-three months after its departure, the _Black Pearl_ once again sailed proudly into the harbor at Port Royal, Jamaica. The crowd that gathered near the dock was far larger than had been the case when Captain Jack Sparrow had brought the Chalice of St. Francis back from Santiago. During the _Black Pearl's_ long absence, the whole town had missed the sight of the beautiful pirate ship, which always seemed so exotic when compared with the naval and merchant vessels that graced the harbor. But of course it was the people who were missed most, and there were many in Port Royal who had longed for the dear ones who'd set sail on that voyage to complete the quest and return the Chalice of St. Francis and Father Taddeo Angelini to their home in far away Italy.

Governor Weatherby Swann was particularly anxious to be reunited with his loved ones, and had even begun to fidget with impatience, much to Admiral Norrington's surreptitious amusement. Swann had received a message from Barbados the previous week, which had imparted thrilling news: the _Black Pearl_ had made the crossing of the Atlantic in good order, and had arrived at Bridgetown less than twelve hours before the birth of William Weatherby Turner. Will wrote that Elizabeth had come through the experience with great courage, and with her health intact, and had been attended by Madame Juju and her daughters, just as Harry had been so many years before.

Madame, who had not been young at the time of Tom's birth, had now seemed quite ancient, and yet was still spry, skillful, and most commanding in demeanor—almost frighteningly so! Jack had found the latter quality nearly as annoying as he'd found it during his first encounter with the lady, especially since he'd been in an ill humor to begin with: Elizabeth had begun her labor two weeks earlier than expected, and the last leagues to Bridgetown had been most stressful for him, and, indeed, for everyone aboard the _Black Pearl_. After the birth, and Madame's departure, Elizabeth had been quite willing to immediately set out again for Jamaica and home, but Jack had decreed they would stay a week, or even two, as he very much felt the need to recruit his strength after such an ordeal.

Apparently he had recovered, however, and at last the _Black Pearl_ was approaching the docks of Port Royal, the Captain again at the helm, and the usual swarm of crewmembers following his commands on and above the deck – usual, that is, but for one slight figure, smaller than the others, which daringly slid from on high, down one of the ship's stays as she drifted to a stop.

Anne gasped. "Tom! Look, it's Tom!" She waved frantically, and was beyond delight when he saw her and waved back, grinning.

The ship was made fast and the gangplank lowered, and, as had been the case nearly two years before, Tom was first off the ship.

Anne stared at him as he approached, and suddenly felt a little shy, for he looked much more grown up than she remembered. He was nearly nine now, of course, but life on the _Black Pearl_ had not only agreed with him but had given him knowledge, confidence, and an ease of movement that made him seem even older.

But it was the same Tom that ran toward her with a shout of "Anne! Annie, I'm home!" His dark eyes flashed with merriment, and his grin was very white in his tanned face, and to her surprise he picked her up, swung her around, and kissed her cheek. Setting her on her feet again, he said, "Lord, I'd forgot how pretty you are! I missed you, Anne!"

"Oh!" Anne exclaimed, nearly speechless with happiness. She threw her arms around him and hugged him. "Oh, I missed you, too! So very much." And though she could not quite keep back a few tears of joy, he did not seem to mind, much to her relief.

The other loved ones disembarked and were greeted in a more sedate manner. Even so, the joy in the air that morning was a palpable thing.

The Governor shed a tear or two himself at the sight of his Elizabeth, Will, and Baby William. "Ah! He is perfect!" Weatherby exclaimed, taking the little bundle from his daughter's arms.

Will laughed. "It's not easy to tell when he's swaddled like that, but yes, he is! It is very good to see you, sir."

Weatherby, who'd been bouncing the baby slightly, and making cooing noises, said, "Eh? Oh, yes. Good to see the both of you." He looked closely at Elizabeth. "Are you well, my dear? Perhaps you should go sit down in the coach."

"I'm very well, indeed!" Elizabeth said, kissing his cheek. "I've no need to sit down just yet." She turned to the Norringtons, and went to embrace Maggie. "How wonderful to see you, Maggie! And you, James. But Lucia!" She stood back to survey the lovely young woman, who was quite obviously increasing! Charles stood behind her, and looked proud as a peacock. "When is the baby due?" Elizabeth smiled.

"In three months!"

"Oh, how happy I am for you both! For you all!" Elizabeth smiled at Maggie and the Admiral.

And then, Suzanna and Michael Owens were there, and it was Maggie's turn to shed tears as she gathered the girl against her, words failing her.

Owens smiled quizzically at the Admiral, and exchanged a comparatively subdued greeting with him, and with his brother-in-law. "I have a hard time seein' you as a father, Charles," he commented, with a grin.

"Oh, I'm a quick study, lad. I'll be happy to advise you – and soon, I hope!"

Owens laughed a little. "Thanks. We're… we're takin' our time, as it were. After… the first one."

Charles's smile faded, and he clapped a comforting hand to his friend's arm. And Admiral Norrington nodded. He and his wife had received a letter, many months ago, briefly informing them that Suzanna had become pregnant on the voyage to Italy, but had suffered a miscarriage. Owens had written of his deep thanks for the presence of Lady Harry and Elizabeth, for there was no doubt that Suzanna's recovery was eased due to their tender care and their sensible but most sympathetic words of comfort.

Temporarily released from her mother's embrace, Suzanna said, "Yes. I am most anxious to try again. How envious I am of you, Lucia! And as for Elizabeth and little Bill… well, there cannot be a greater blessing in life, as Father Taddeo once told us. And, truly, I am now in excellent health!" This last sounded a trifle defensive, and was accompanied by a rather pointed glance at her husband, and a flush of pink on her cheeks.

Michael flushed, too, but there was a hint of stubbornness about him as he said, quietly, "You are, indeed, and you'll stay that way if I can help it. But p'rhaps we should discuss such things in a more private setting?"

Suzanna colored even more, but tilted her chin, slightly, and said, "Yes. I think perhaps we should."

Snickers building to outright laughter greeted this reply. Owens grinned, and put his arm around his wife and kissed her cheek.

"That wife o' yours tellin' lewd stories again?" came a familiar voice, and everyone turned to greet Jack, who was walking toward them with Harry on his arm.

Owens said, "Aye! She's become a right saucy wench in the last two years, thanks to close association with a couple of older ladies of our acquaintance." And Harry and Elizabeth each received a meaningful look.

Harry chuckled and turned to her equally amused niece. "Our work seems to have come to happy fruition, Elizabeth! How very gratifying it is to realize that one's efforts have not been in vain."

**o-o-o**

Once again, the Governor had caused several carriages to be brought to the docks, and presently the reunited family and friends were transported up the hill to his estate. The excited staff was already in the midst of preparations, and Anatole and Louise immediately repaired to the kitchens to assist, for a veritable banquet was to be served to celebrate the homecoming.

The two younger couples were invited to accompany Elizabeth, Will, and Baby William to the cottage on the edge of the Governor's property. Charles and Lucia had recently moved into a new home, in town, but had left the cottage not only tidy, but also well-stocked with provisions. Refreshments were prepared, while Elizabeth and Will took their little boy upstairs to see his nursery, which the Governor had caused to be redecorated and furnished in a most sumptuous manner.

"You may think it a trifle too much," Swann had said to his daughter, "but, after all: he is my heir! Have to do _something_ for the boy!"

Elizabeth, who foresaw a great many _somethings_ in her little boy's future, had stifled any misgivings (for the present), kissed her father on his cheek, and said merely, "Thank you, _best_ of fathers!"

"And best of _grand_fathers, I hope," Weatherby had chuckled.

With the young couples gone, the Governor drew Norrington and Jack into his library for cool drinks, well-laced with rum, and for leisurely discussion of the long journey just ended. Maggie and Harry joined them, presently, Julietta and Nurse Maria having been left in charge of the twins up in the old nursery wing.

"But where is Tom? And Anne?" Harry inquired, accepting her drink from Jack, but frowning a little at the children's absence, for they'd run off immediately on arriving at the estate, and had not been seen since.

But Weatherby said, "I expect little Anne is showing Tom the…er… treehouse we built while you were away."

"Treehouse!" Harry exclaimed. "You built one for Anne?"

"Well, caused it to be built. It is quite charming. We can go and see it later, if you like."

Harry eyed him severely. "When I was her age, and asked you for a treehouse, you told me it was nonsense and that well-bred girls did not climb trees!"

"Yes. Well." Weatherby cleared his throat. "I trust I have gained in wisdom in the intervening years, sister. And that you will forgive my well-meaning but occasionally misguided efforts on your behalf."

Harry fought against a smile, and lost. She went to her brother, who allowed himself to be embraced, and kissed on the cheek. "I forgive you, my dear," she said. "Anne is a lucky little girl to have you as her patron – as was I, indeed – most of the time!"

**o-o-o**

Anne Norrington would certainly have agreed with Lady Harry's assessment of the Governor's patronage.

She and Governor Swann had become great friends during the time that Tom and his parents had been away, for they were as one in missing them most dreadfully. The treehouse had been a project that had kept them busy, and even Charles and Lucia had helped in designing, building, and furnishing it.

After its completion, Anne had spent many happy hours in it, playing with her dolls, or looking at books the Governor lent her from his library, sewing on the sampler Nurse Maria insisted she attempt, or just lying there, on the masses of comfortable cushions that furnished the place, dreaming of the time she'd be able to show her new palace to Tom Sparrow.

She'd invited Julietta to visit, once or twice, and once her father had climbed up to sit there, looking delighted, but rather awkward. Charles and Lucia had been occasional visitors, too, until Lucia had realized she was to have a baby and Charles wouldn't let her climb up any more. But no one else had been inside the treehouse. It was not for any of the children in Port Royal: she had a few friends among them, but she knew they considered her an odd sort of girl, in spite of being very pretty, and the sister of Julietta. Julietta was bidding fair to becoming the belle of the town, young as she was, but Anne knew, even at seven, that she would never achieve that sort of popularity. No, her best friends were grown-ups. And Tom. And the treehouse, in conception and execution, was as much for him as it was for her.

And she was not disappointed in his reaction to it.

"Bloody hell! This is something like!" he exclaimed on seeing it.

Though elated, Anne frowned, severely. "Tom Sparrow, you shouldn't say that in my presence!"

Tom glanced at her, sheepishly. "Sorry! You're right, of course, and Mama would flay me for it. But really, Anne, this is fantastic! How'd you get my uncle to do it?"

"He enjoyed it! We all did. We had to have _something_ to do while you were gone!"

"Well, you put your time and effort to good use, I'll say that! May I go up?"

"It's yours, Tom. Yours… and mine." She felt herself coloring at his surprised stare, and her own gaze dropped to the silver buttons on his vest.

But Tom set his finger under her chin, and lifted it. She looked up at him, and her heart nearly stopped at the crooked grin on his face, and the warm look in his eyes. And he said, "Do you remember I told you we'd marry and I'd take you all over the world?"

Her heart trembled that _he_ remembered. "Of course, Tom," she said, her voice a little unsteady. "I remember everything you've ever told me!"

He took the finger away and put that arm around her shoulders; the other made a sweeping gesture at the treehouse, like a conjurer calling forth a wonder. "Well, then, we've got to have some place to come home to, don't we?"

"Oh, yes!" she smiled. "Yes, we do."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, but he gave her a quick squeeze and said, "Come on! I want to see the inside, and I'll tell you all about the voyage. There were pirates, Anne! Bad ones, off Africa, it was, and I helped carry powder, and Mama _shot_ one that tried to get into the Great Cabin!"

"Oh, Tom! No!"

"Aye! It was beyond anything great. Word of a Sparrow! Come up and I'll tell you."

**o-o-o**

Many hours later, long after everyone had gathered in the great dining room and partaken of the elaborate feast prepared in honor of the occasion, Charles and Lucia took the younger Norrington children home in one of the Swann carriages, while Michael and Suzanna saw Tom to his room, and then retired to their own for the deferred 'discussion'. The remaining gentlemen repaired to the library, for more talk and brandy. Harry, Margaret and Nurse Maria, however, walked out to the little cottage to see Elizabeth and the baby.

The new mother was in the elaborate nursery, and was just laying William down in his cradle after feeding him. The ladies at the doorway were quiet as mice, and smiled as Elizabeth turned and tiptoed toward them.

"Asleep?" whispered Margaret.

"Nearly, yes." Elizabeth shut the door part way, and the baby could be heard, fussing tiredly. "Come, he'll be all right. I believe the stillness of the land disagrees with him – he's so accustomed to the motion of the ship!"

"You ladies go," said Nurse Maria. "I'll keep an eye on the little one."

Elizabeth smiled, and said, "Thank you, Maria! I'll have tea and cakes sent up to you."

Elizabeth led the way to the little parlor, and, after ordering the refreshments made, sat down with her aunt and her friend. She noticed her aunt looking around the room, an odd smile on her lips. "What are you scheming at, Aunt?" Elizabeth asked, with a smile.

"It hasn't changed much, this little room. Since the night I sat here and told you and Will… about Tom."

"Oh, Heavens, Aunt! That was a dreadful time!"

"It wasn't!" exclaimed Harry. "Or… well some of it was, I must admit. My brother behaved very badly over it! And Norrington. He _hit_ Jack, Maggie! My poor darling. I was so angry!"

Maggie shook her head. "Considering what they might have done to Jack, I'd say he was most fortunate!"

"Yes," agreed Elizabeth. "I'd say both of you were. Or mad. Probably both!"

But Harry said, "A little madness is necessary, I think, to take advantage of good fortune when it comes. Some would have called you and I mad for praying with Father Taddeo and drinking from the Chalice before we left Assisi. And yet here we are, and little Bill asleep right above us."

"The greatest of blessings," agreed Elizabeth. "Indeed, if the Chalice had worked in your favor as well I would have no doubt of its miraculous nature."

"God hears all our prayers, Elizabeth," said Maggie, "though sometimes the answer is 'no'."

But Harry smiled, and said softly, "Ah! But in this case, the answer was 'yes'."

Elizabeth and Maggie both turned to her, wide-eyed, and said, simultaneously, "_What?_"

Harry laughed, much amused.

"Aunt!" Elizabeth laughed and got up, and shook her Aunt by the shoulders. "You wretch! And you didn't tell me? I don't know what you deserve!"

"That you wish me well, of course," Harry said. "And luck in telling Jack."

"You've not told him?" Maggie frowned. "Oh, but he must know!"

But Harry shook her head. "He does not! At first I wanted to be sure, but then… oh, he was at wits end trying to get us to Barbados in time, and then little Bill's birth…"

Elizabeth nodded, and said to Maggie, "It took much longer than I was hoping, but then, that last hour things went almost too quickly. I'm afraid I could not restrain my cries. Jack was apparently quite horrified, but Will was even worse and needed his support, so he could not take himself off to a tavern to drown his sorrows in saluting the mother-to-be, as had most of the rest of the crew."

"Oh dear!" said Maggie, shaking her head sadly. "They are such squeamish creatures, in some ways, are they not? But Harry, I do believe you must be mistaken. Depend upon it, he knows, and is waiting for you to say something."

"Maggie, no! I vow, he does not! And I am quite nervous about telling him. It will change our plans considerably, I'm afraid. Our Voyage of Trade and Exploration will have to be put off for a few years, at least. Come, let us put our heads together. I am relying on both of you to suggest some way in which the good news may be made more palatable to him."

**o-o-o**

"Ah! Bloody good brandy, this, Weatherby."

"It's the last of that French stuff you brought me. Unfortunate we are not still at war with France."

"Unfortunate, indeed. But we'll see what can be done." Jack grinned, and gave the others a suggestive look. Will returned the grin, and the Governor chuckled, but James rolled his eyes.

"Jack… your efforts might be better served elsewhere. The peace we strengthened at the summit in Santiago two years ago is faltering. Considering the size of the Spanish fleet and the extent of their holdings in the Caribbean, it may develop into a dangerous situation for us."

"That right? And they do make a very good Amontillado over there in _España_," Jack mused. "Perhaps I'll have to linger in the Caribbean a while longer, eh? "

Norrington smiled. "The _Black Pearl_ would be a great asset to us. I am most pleased to hear you would consider it."

The Governor looked surprised and pleased as well. "This is very good news indeed!"

"It is!" agreed Will. "But does Harry know you are thinking of altering your plans?"

Swann added, "Yes! St. Claire Island virtually runs itself, just as she thought it would. I visited twice, and all was in order."

Jack nodded. "And it's safe, too, what with that Old Sailors' Home we had built. The lads that settle there are still up to mountin' a defence, if needed. Good place to leave her while the _Black Pearl_ harries the _flota_ an' all. The baby will keep her busy."

"_Baby_?" said Swann and Will, together.

Norrington's brow arched in muted inquiry.

Jack smiled, a little wryly. "Aye. She's increasin' again. Hasn't told me yet, but the signs are there."

Will said, in wonder, "The Chalice _did_ work a miracle, then! Elizabeth… and now Harry!"

"Yes," the Governor agreed. "The doctor had said she would not conceive again. He was quite sure of it!"

Jack sniffed. "Shows you what _they_ know, don't it?

James smiled. "Indeed. My congratulations to you both. Harry will at last have her girl!"

"Lord, I hope so!" Jack said, in mock horror. "One like Tom's enough for anyone!"

But Swann chuckled. "Perhaps I should tell you a little more of what your wife was like as a child, Jack."

**o-o-o**

Some time later, Jack swayed up the stairs to the rooms they were allotted when staying with the Governor. He entered his wife's chamber without knocking, and smiled at her as she looked around from where she sat at the vanity. She was clad in that dressing gown he liked, the gold satin one, all covered with rich embroidery, and Amelie was brushing out her hair for her. Amelie'd just cut the ends off it the other day, but it was still near down to her waist, and lay now like a cape of rich satin itself, the brown of it touched with deep gold and hints of red, too. _Beautiful_.

"Here. I'll finish that, Amelie," Jack said, sauntering across the room. Amelie dimpled in amusement, and Jack smirked as he took the brush from her. "Tell Alphonse I'll see him in the morning, aye?"

"_Oui, Capitaine. Merci_!" Amelie smiled, and turned, setting her hands on Harry's shoulders. "_Bon nuit, Madame._ May you have dreams of the most pleasant!"

"And to you, Amelie," Harry smiled, briefly touching one of her dresser's hands.

When Amelie had closed the door behind her, Jack commented, "Nice lass, that. That was a piece of luck, her and her sister both."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and her mouth twisted. "Considering they saved you from an excruciating death, I should say so!"

"Nah! Tussaud wouldn't've killed me. He said so!" Harry rolled her eyes a bit, and shook her head in an exasperated way, and Jack said, "Hold still. Can't you see I'm brushin' your hair?"

She smiled and closed her eyes, savoring the moment. Jack continued brushing, but the strokes became slower and slower as his eyes drifted to the mirror wherein her dear face was reflected, contentment in every line of it. Finally he stopped brushing all together. Her eyes in the mirror opened, and looked into his reflected ones for a long, silent moment.

"What is it?" she asked finally.

"_Beautiful_," he said, simply. A little pleased color came into her cheeks. He set the brush down on the vanity, and waggled his fingers, instructively. "Stand up." He stood back, watching as she complied and took a step toward him. The corner of his mouth tilted, and he came close, his hands going to the sash tied at her waist. "Let's see if you're wearing my favorite nightgown, shall we?" She smirked at him, confirming his suspicions. The sash fell to the floor, and the heavy satin parted down the front.

Naked as the day she was born.

"You are! Fancy that!" The words were light, but the tone was dark velvet, and he did not smile now as put his hands up and drew the gown off her shoulders, letting it slip to the floor.

She was gold and rose in the candlelight, and her brown eyes were wide and clear and full of love as she watched him look at her. He gathered her hair back, like thick silk, and bent and placed his lips against the column of her neck, and smiled at the little hitch in her breath and the slight tremble that shook her. Thus encouraged he continued touching, and occasionally tasting; savoring her subdued reactions, the quickening of her breath, the light touch of her hands upon him; and working downward in a most leisurely manner, finally knelt before her, his hands caressing the rounded flesh, his lips placing a tender kiss just beside the slight swell of hipbone. Then he set his hand upon her belly and looked up at the dreamy face, and said, "So when were you going to tell me?"

Her eyes widened, and the dazed look vanished. "Jack! You… you _know_?"

He chuckled, and rose to his feet, gathering her against him. "Of course I know. Silly chit. Do I not know your body near as well as my own?" And he kissed her, murmuring approval of her eager reciprocation, and at the way she seemed to twine herself about him. But when they paused for breath, he patted her backside and said low, against her ear, "'Sides, you've not had your courses in almost two months. D'you think I miss such things?"

"Apparently not," she admitted, and then gave a tiny shriek of laughter as he swept her up and carried her to the bed. But when he'd sat down, cuddling her against him, her smile faltered and she caressed his cheek. "You… you do not mind? I know it changes all our plans."

He shook his head, making a pretence of sadness. "Aye. God thinks He knows best for us, I reckon. He's like that." Her worry assuaged, he went on. "Fortunately, James has a bit of work for me. The Spanish, an' all."

"The Spanish?" Harry frowned. "I was hoping to see Juana, and Don Alejandro, now that we are returned. I wanted to have them visit us on St. Claire!"

"Oh, I daresay with the proper sort of inducement I might be able to arrange something," Jack said, thoughtfully.

"Ah! You are open to bribery, then."

"Oh, certainly. Bribery. Extortion. Whatever you like."

"Whatever I like?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Now that is an offer that is far too good to refuse."

**o-o-o**

Much later, they lay together, sated and tired, but not yet asleep. Harry lay draped half over him, her bare knee riding between his, the curve of her now limned in silver in the light of the old moon, and again he could not help thinking, _Beautiful!_ and gave a sigh of bliss.

She stirred a little, and her hand moved down his side in a tender caress. "Are you all right?"

"All right?" He smiled, and said, slowly, "You know, love, I once had the wisdom to tell Will that not all treasure is silver and gold. But I swear to you -- word of a pirate -- I never knew the half of it."

**o-o-o**_** Finis **_**o-o-o**_**  
**_


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